Sudden Dearth

SDIV Chapter 10 Pt1

2012-01-31T00:11:00.000-08:00

Chapter Ten

Cursed Hills
Zone IV

She felt the buffeting wind of entry, its familiarity awaking a visceral response. With swift and practiced movements she checked her pod, ignoring the incongruity of her recent dreams. Alana activated her suit’s microphone, receiving the satisfying green confirmation icons of her squad members. At least that was still working.
Now she allowed herself time to study her immediate environment more deeply; she was wedged into the pod. Of alien design, it nevertheless cocooned her from the blazing heat of atmosphere entry. Information scrolled across her HUD and she recognised the moment when the pod began its release. There was not the usual delayed and organised process; the pod blew free explosively, kick-starting the powered suits reaction. Armoured wings flicked free, her jets burning brightly to arrest her descent. One quick check showed her team members awake and signalling, their concern muted as they professionally absorbed their surroundings.

“Count off!” she ordered, green icons flicking on and off as they acknowledged her command.

“Flight pattern Delta.”

Again the icons flashed and she watched them move closer. All except one, which flashed a strange purple as it continued to fall. It was not one of hers.
External scans showed it to be a pod of similar design to that from which she had so recently exited. Alana watched as rockets fired on the pod’s exterior, slowing its descent enough to allow a controlled landing. Her sensors detected life-signs from within, and she split her squad; half would provide aerial cover whist she and the others investigated.

*

It did not wait for help, exiting from the pod with sure and rapid movements. Heightened senses detected the arrival of the armoured figures and it smiled, revealing a mouth full of jagged teeth. They must not see it yet, there would be time enough for introductions later. First impressions were important and it knew that right now they would not be good ones. Its hunched body and wizened face, along with its tattered coat and broken shoes portrayed a poor ancient. Mammon was ancient, poor in spirit but never in wealth, and liked his victims to be unprepared for his true manifestation. He sniffed the air, grinning as he recognised a familiar scent, and sprang into the nearby foliage. The Cursed Hills were one of his favourite places, full of hate and possibility.

A slight rustling drew his attention, the tribesman’s ragged cloak giving away his hiding place. Mammon’s wolf-like face sharpened into concentration, his hooked fingers arcing into claws as he leapt. The tribesman stood no chance. Bow and arrow clattered to the floor as Mammon fed, drawing out the man’s essence quickly, the only disappointment that he could not savour the soul wailing as it fled its empty shell.

The air shimmered around Mammon’s frame. He used a little of the newly-gained power to reshape his bowed frame. There was a man he had admired, who had once been great. Mammon had met him on the flagship as he struggled to redeem himself in the eyes of the Church. It still caused Mammon pleasure as he cut short the human’s life, redemption had been promised but never achieved. Instead, he had drained his victim dry, relishing each mouthful as Victor Espada died. Memories always accompanied such a process, and in Espada he had found a treasure trove of experience. The man had fallen low, the Inspectorate finding and indoctrinating him in the Prelate’s Grace and then he raised himself up again. Such a shame that Mammon found him.

As Tauran demons went, Mammon was of the lesser kind. Not due to his abilities, rather to his lack of ambition and his own proclivities. Avarice was his true calling and drove his every waking moment. He never had enough, was always coveting that which others had, and bored easily.

Others of his brethren found him a simple target, taking what he had gained and throwing him down. Mammon had fled their domains, looking for and finding an ever-changing world where he could fulfil his every desire. His senses had tasted something different with those within the pods, and he was looking forward to taming them and forcing them to his will. Afterwards he would kill them, but they seemed strong and full of fight. He hoped so.

El Wildwose

2012-01-16T11:02:00.000-08:00

The Wildwose has finally been translated by me. It is now in the final stage of editing and I hope to have it available on Smashwords and Amazon by the end of the month.

Watch this space!

Cheers

Rayo

El Wildwose finalmente ha sido traducido por mí. Ahora se encuentra en la etapa final de edición y espero tener la versión final disponible en Smashwords y Amazon a finales del mes.

¡Mire este espacio!

Un Saludo

Rayo

SDIV Chapter Nine Pt2

2011-12-28T06:39:00.000-08:00

Flagship
Unknown Location

Shan smiled as he entered the small room. Three Ori sat in front of a large table, upon which were clearly defined a series of red-lined zones. Small figurines populated each zone, with others ranked in front of the respective players. Holographic screens hung before them and a heated debate was in progress. It was all too easy.

“You cannot change the rules now,” snarled one, “even if two of the zones have become one. No more dice rolls for you. It´s my turn.”

“But you cheated,” whined another, “you have extra pieces, undeclared pieces, which are effecting the game. I need a judgement!”

With this he whirled to the third member at the table, who seemed somewhat aloof.

“My decision is that they are valid. No one controls them. Something which has never been seen for ages. It will add a little sparkle to the Game!”

“Enough!” roared Shan, indicating for his men to fan out and secure the room, “There is a new player in town, and I will decide what is right or not!”

“Who are you to…?”

The unfortunate Ori never finished his sentence as Shan drew his pistol and shot him. He kicked the corpse aside, twisting the chair around and resting his crossed feet on the table.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “as I said, the Game has changed…anyone else care to argue?”

There was no reply as Shan flicked his finger across the holoscreen.

“This,” he said, “is the one time that I hold all of the cards.”

Zone II
Unknown Location

Silence reigned within the cave, except for the dripping of a small rivulet of water onto the slime-covered rock below. The peace was broken by a grating, screeching sound and the weed-entwined grill covering the cave’s mouth strained upwards.

Inside something stirred; a grumbling, groaning noise followed by a muted growl. A large red-clawed hand grasped the bottom of the grill and heaved, tearing it free from its green restraints. A cloven hoof was planted outside as the creature twisted its body back into the cave, looking for something.

Finally it emerged, a huge axe in its right hand, flames jumping between the horns on its hideous head. Twin rows of serrated teeth were opened, and a deep, bass laugh rang out. It ripped free the pistol from the holster on its hip and fired into the surrounding vegetation, the explosive round smashing a nearby rock into dust.

“Death and destruction!” it roared, following the strange bobbing light which appeared. It always brought satisfaction.

Ruined City
Zone II

Inspector Burton rolled groggily to his feet, spitting out a mix of dirt and blood. He had been left in an untidy heap, behind some sheltering rubble. Tapping on his communication link, he heard the faint hiss of its operation and spoke rapidly into it, “Sargeant, report!”

“Sir!” responded Harms, “You are alive, thank the Prelate!”

“Yes, indeed, Sargeant,” replied Burton scanning the area, “what is your position, can you see me?”

“No, sir. We had to take a detour around the back of the Taurans, fighting our way through. We should be close to you in a few minutes.”

In fact, the Sargeant was perched on slightly raised wall, hidden from the Inspector’s view.

“Be careful, when you get here." said Burton, "That magician and his follower are around. They have already tried to attack me once, although I did fight them off.”

Harms stifled a laugh.

“What’s that? Sargeant!”

“Sorry, Sir,” replied Harms, “had to cough, we’ll be with you shortly. Out!”

Just in front of him sat the ‘magician’ and his follower. Laughing to himself, the Sargeant waved his men forward.

*

Grishak stopped and sniffed the air. The first fight had been disappointing; one or two poorly equipped humans had tried to stand against him, their strange and antiquated armour proving little challenge. Now though, he could smell fresh blood and death. The familiar odours of burnt flesh and recently spilled guts drew him on.

His ears had heard cries in praise of his own Demon God and he knew he was close. Parting some annoying branches with his axe, he saw the city in front of him, starkly highlighted by burning buildings. The sound of rifle fire flowed like music to his starved and twisted soul.

Roaring his challenge he burst through the non-existent barrier and entered the streets, a startled group of Church soldiers turning to fire at him. This was more like it, he thought as he charged on, here there would at least be sport and without doubt death to glorify his name.

The first swing of his axe sent a head spinning into the air, his pistol firing indiscriminately into the mass of bodies before him. There would be time later to educate the Taurans to his identity, but for now there was war.

*

Inspector Burton had managed to round up a few recalcitrant troops; it was necessary to instil a little discipline into one or two of them, but that was why he was here. He had just ordered the troops to remove the still warm bodies, when the beast had attacked. Up until now, they had not seen one such as he, but there was no mistaking the Tauran Elite.

“Kill it!” he screamed, firing his pistol as an example and a ragged volley of rifle fire lashed out in response. Nothing seemed to affect the Tauran, as it shrugged off the weapons fire and ploughed into the Church soldiers.

*

Harms and his men had come up to Cornelius’ position unseen and the vain attempts of the strangely dressed man to swing his sword had been quickly suppressed. A rifle butt to the jaw had calmed him down. It was as Butt responded to their attack that Grishak slammed into the Inspector and his men. Sargeant Harms ignored Butt, quickly ordering his men into position. His Sniper, Burns, snapped off a shot which ricocheted off one of the creature’s horns, but did nothing more than infuriate it and give away their position.

As the huge beast turned to begin its assault of Harms’ men, he heard the strangest of sounds, Butt was laughing.

Expansion On Amazon

2011-12-20T04:59:00.001-08:00

I was checking on my KDP Amazon site and found out that I am now available in the US, UK, Germany, France, Spain and Italy. What I now need to do is get my finger out and translate something. My deductive reasoning process would suggest that the easiest would be The Wildwose, so I now have a New Year´s resolution which is to have The Wildwose in Spanish available for download by the end of January 2012.

Other resolutions are to continue posting SDIV here and to finally complete A Cold Dish and my new novel, ELDRID, Officer Of The Guard for publication before the Summer.

Curiously, I am now selling more via Smashwords (Barnes & Noble and Sony included) than on Amazon and have made the decision not to put my books on the KDP Select programme. Those that are free, remain free and I would rather have a diversity of Distribution Channels, rather than restrict myself just to Amazon.

Well, it makes sense to me....

SDIV - Chapter Nine Pt1

2011-12-10T12:09:00.000-08:00

Chapter Nine

Ruined City
Zone II

Inspector Burton watched the two strange creatures through his gunsights as they crossed over onto the paved road. He had seen the portal open, the strange vegetation beyond and he knew it was some type of demon-spawned witchcraft.

One of the two was wearing normal clothes, in some vain attempt to fit in, but had a strange mutation attached to its neck, with another head lolling down. The second of them was dressed in a baggy jerkin, spotted with a strange variegated pattern, and ambled by its side.

“Just a little bit closer,” he said encouragingly, under his breath, “that’s right.”

He looked up to make sure that his men were in position; this war had seemed to last forever, they were constantly repelling attacks from a mixture of Tauran forces. This, however, was quite new, a change to the typical bombardment followed by assault. They had long ago lost their armour and were reduced to hand weapons and the one or two explosive charges that still remained.

Burton had tried to raise Command by communicator, but it seemed that they were isolated here. He had picked up a rag-tag band of men, from different worlds and different regiments as the fight had continued, in fact the mixture of units had called his attention a number of times. However, he believed in the command structure and as such his blind faith in their judgement kept him from taking the matter further.

Raising his hand he signalled to his Sargeant, the highest ranker apart from himself, and saw the man pat the top of the soldier’s helmet in front of him. He had already chosen his best man, Burns their sniper, to deal with this potential threat. Two clean shots and it would be over, he thought, just before the rocket screamed into view, barrelling directly for his position

*

“Well, it seems pretty quiet,” said Cornelius, squinting at the nearest building, “I think whatever fighting took place here was a while ago.”

He had hardly finished his sentence when the first salvo of rockets slammed into the building, sending chunks of material high into the air. Butt thought he saw a body mixed amongst them, but was unsure and covered his head to protect himself from the falling debris.

At that moment Clari decided to demonstrate her preoccupation, her scorching breath whistling past his ear.

“You …” he started, leaning forward to chastise her, and in so doing, saved his life.

The sniper had a clear shot, or so he thought; at the last minute his target had jerked violently and instead of the head shot he had taken, the slight movement caused the laser to score off the top of the creature’s head. Cursing, Burns took aim again and it was then the second load of rockets struck.

“F**k!” cursed Butt, diving to the floor, his head burning. The round had parted his hair cleanly, leaving a stripe of burned flesh where his mohican had once stood proudly. He rolled back and forth in agony and screamed for Kam to get down; the dazed Taartun stood open-mouthed, marvelling at the display of violence all around.

Cornelius grabbed his sleeve and dragged him down as a horde of screaming Taurans rounded the corner.

*

Groggily the Inspector climbed to his feet, the remnants of his command strewn all around. He saw the Sargeant waving at him and signalled back, speaking into his communicator.

“Get ready!” he spat, “They’ll be coming soon!”

Almost on cue, the Tauran forces attacked, storming their position. Rapidly Burton gave his commands and a volley of fire blasted forth. He had forgotten about the other two creatures as a more pressing problem appeared.

*

“Over there!” shouted Butt, indicating a recently created pile of rubble and set off at a flat run for the cover. By now, Kam seemed to have realised that his life was in danger and soon overhauled the gasping Cornelius.

Sliding to a halt, Cornelius ripped out his pistol and took aim, the distorted features of the Taurans leaving no room for misinterpretation of their intent. He snapped off a couple of shots, the first one missing, but the second striking directly into the open mouth of one of the mutants.

However, as firepower went, they were vastly outgunned and a trio of Tauran troopers split off from the pack and raced towards them.

“We’re going to die!” he muttered as they came closer.

“Speak for yourself!” snarled Kam, using the rubble as a launching pad for a tremendous leap. Sword in hand, he vaulted over the first attacker, and with his weapon held firmly in both hands, used his momentum to slam into the other two. His attack obviously surprised them, knocking them unceremoniously to the floor. Kam stamped down hard onto the first’s neck with the heel of his boot, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone. He pivoted and slashed outwards, his blade ringing against the crude club in the second Tauran’s hand. The shock of the strike caused it to lose its grip and without a visible pause in his movement, Kam buried his blade to the hilt in its chest, wrenching the weapon out as he had been taught, in order to widen the wound.

Looking back he watched Butt scurrying backwards, trying mightily to avoid the serrated weapon in his attacker’s hand. He saw the little man raise his pistol, holding it against the stomach of his attacker. There was a flash, a roar of pain and the Tauran arched upwards. By now Kam had covered the distance between them and punched his sword into the Tauran’s back. Once, twice and a third time he struck until all signs of resistance disappeared.

Butt picked up one of the discarded rifles from the floor and scurried back behind the barricade. Shaking his head, Kam followed; Butt had to be better than this or else they were in serious trouble.

*

The Inspector knew he had a problem; he was the last of his squad, had one ugly spit-drooling face pressed into his, was bleeding from numerous wounds and more of the abominations had arrived. Therefore he took a decision.

Screaming, “For the Prelate!” he braced his legs against the floor, took a firm grasp on the Tauran’s tunic and heaved it backwards. His pumping legs propelled both him and it out of the second storey window, straight down to the welcoming floor below them.

It seemed as though his prayer was answered as the flailing inter-tangled pair crashed down onto a group of Taurans passing below. Their fall was broken and the Inspector rolled away, in pain, but alive.

That was when his luck changed, he felt the weight of a heavy boot pressed into his chest and looked up into a horribly disfigured excuse for a face. Sunlight glinted off the blood encrusted blade as the axe was raised above him and by now even he had stopped in his pleading for divine intervention.

As the weapon began to descend there was a sharp crack, the creature’s eye socket exploded outwards and he was suddenly free again. He closed his eyes momentarily, giving thanks for such intervention and apologising for his lack of faith. When he opened them, he saw the grinning face of Butt above him, his anti-mohican cut, adding even more to his strangeness.

“Thought you might need a hand,” he said, holding out what appeared to be a normal human appendage, “what do you say?”

“Tauran scum!”, roared the Inspector, kicking his foot upwards, straight between the unfortunate Butt’s legs. As Cornelius collapsed, his mouth opened in a silent scream, Kam brought his sword hilt down on top of Burton’s head. He then grabbed a handful of Butt’s shirt and dragged him back behind their shelter, muttering to himself in disgust.

Saligia - Free on Smashwords

2011-11-29T11:11:00.001-08:00

Just a very quick note for those interested.

SALIGIA is now free on Smashwords.

You can find it at:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/71219

Cheers

ayo

SDIV - Chapter Eight Part 2

2011-11-28T12:40:00.001-08:00

Spaceport
Kermadec Island
Macaulay
Disputed Zone

“Get them on board Sargeant.”

Johns had discarded his armour, swapping the suit for a worn green uniform. His men moved their volunteers on board, a mixture of green troops and veterans. He had chosen his people personally, no mistakes would be forgiven on this voyage. The second most powerful man on Macaulay breathed in deeply, slapped his Sargeant on the shoulder and laughed loudly. This was more like it. Viker could stay here with his new-found pleasure and sycophants, Johns craved war. A growl bubbled at the back of his throat, a familiar sound he thought gone forever. Perhaps things were finally beginning to look up. As he heard the ramp lifting , he wondered where Alana was, and what she was doing. He could have done with her by his side.

Flagship
Unknown Location

“So, how does this work?”

Shan looked puzzled. Each of the screens was extremely complex, a mix of virtual holographic technology, hard screen and table-top map-ware. The planet was divided into zones which contained their own habitat and microclimate. Troops were highlighted in one colour, non-combatants in another. Information scrolled on disposition, weapons, life signs, aptitude, power bonuses and risk.

“Games begin simply, usually in one zone. Players then can draft in further troops depending upon strict rules. You can see here how a game develops.”

The Ori flicked his fingers over a virtual keyboard, setting in motion a simulation of a Game.

“This is one of the most famous of Games. It decimated a world, causing the financial ruin of two houses and the virtual annihilation of breeding stock. It is how my family ultimately decided that they were the only true exponents and deserved to own and run the Game as they wished to do so.”

"You lost then,” laughed Shan, “how appropriate.” He waved his hand around the Control Room,

“Now, show me how...”

“We’ve already stated...aargh!”

“Not listening. This is now my Game. I want to play right now.”

His finger hovered over a rune, “What does this one do?”

“No!” screamed the Ori as the signal was sent.

*

Within the bowels of the Flagship, relays clicked and whined as nine non-descript pods began a short journey. Fluid was drained in the process, electronic stimuli shuddering through eight slumbering bodies. The ninth held a being who merely smiled, flexing wrinkled appendages and baring teeth in anticipation. Soon, it would be time to live again.

Alana stirred, chemicals rapidly being evacuated from her body as her enhanced metabolism kicked in. As she woke, so too did her suit, her HUD flickering into solidity and feeding data directly to her starved senses. Before she could formulate a plan the pods rocked to a stop, energy build-up causing them to oscillate in anticipation. With a huge surge they were expelled from the ship, curving away slightly, before heading for the planet’s surface.

Fold Space
Unknown Location

Johns checked the read out again, they had been travelling for what seemed an eternity, but time was deceptive within the vortex of folded space. He knew where they were going, his senses still attuned to his ex-squad member. Whatever Viker had conjured, Alana somehow called to him. His initial thought was to follow the Construct’s destructive trail, but deep down he knew it was wrong. Those on board with him believed more in Johns than they did in their once angelic Lord. He trusted them to do the right thing and he knew that following Alana and her people was important.

“How much longer, Sir?”

It was a valid question and he knew one all shared.

“Soon,” he said, “very soon.”

SDIV - Chapter Eight Part 1

2011-11-05T12:33:00.000-07:00

Flagship
Unknown Location

Mechanical interlocking transit ways moved the drop pods along. They snaked their way to the allocated bay, set aside for them. Above each of the reserved slots a rune flashed brightly in a pale green light, until the pod docked. With an escape of steam and a resounding clunk, each individual pod bedded into its receiver, actuating relays which initiated the stasis rods waiting calmly for their charges. Thin sleeves of metal moved smoothly out, mating with the recessed plugs in the outer shell of the pod’s casing. Fluid hissed through the new couplings, filling an inner series of veins and maintaining the pod’s charges at an optimum level.

Seven of the eight pods acted as expected, the eighth waited a moment, gurgling in protest before it too showed green lights across the board. Inside the eighth pod Alana dreamed, her body jerking in feverish activity.

Red eyes glinted from the shadows near to the new arrivals. A wrinkled hand reached out and caressed Alana’s pod, soon it was followed by a hunched figure who withdrew a tool from inside its outer garment. Shrill, warbling sound broke into the monotone repetition of functioning equipment. One more pod moved into place, making the group nine, yet not registering as such on the main console. With a chuckle the tool was replaced and the figure climbed inside his own temporary tomb, calm in the knowledge that he would be accompanying the new arrivals on their next journey. That, or his alarms would be triggered and he would be shunted aside, to waken once more. He had done this many times before.

Kermadec Island
Macaulay
Disputed Zone

Viker yawned. He changed his mind like the wind, and had decided that it was necessary to stay a little longer. More people had flocked in from outlying regions and he ruthlessly culled them; the young and virile were segregated, mostly, and indoctrinated into his army of followers. Others were used as target practice or to satisfy the burgeoning excesses of chosen officers. Only Johns remained aloof, working hard to mould the new soldiery into an effective fighting force. At times, Viker wondered who he was doing it for, but his old mentor showed nothing but faith and belief in his Lord. More fool him.

Languidly, Viker rose from his makeshift throne, stretching his wings and scratching his crotch. He spat, ignoring where his spittle would land. No-one would raise a voice in protest. A line of stone-faced guards waited for him outside the room, falling in behind as he sauntered in search of some amusement.

“My Lord!”

“What now, Johns?” he asked.

“We have word of the Beast.”

For a moment, the only beast that Viker could think about was that which curled hidden within him, but then he remembered having coined the name for the possessed Construct.

“What of it?”

“It has halted. Spindle appears to be its destination.”

“Asmode’s Lair? How trite,” said Viker dismissively, “we received information on that location before our failed attempt to destroy it last time. What could it possibly want there?”

“I believe that we need to go and find out,” suggested Johns, awaiting his Lord’s displeasure.

“You go,” said Viker, “take some troops with you and find out what’s going on. I have work still to do here.”

“Yes, My Lord,” said Johns, “at once.”

With a wave of his hands, Viker quickly forgot about Johns; there were some new arrivals from the country and he was sure to find at least one buxom wench to satisfy him.

SDIV - Chapter Seven Part 2

2011-10-22T11:53:00.000-07:00

Gingerly, Cornelius stepped around the remains of the mangled and shattered forms. Here and there he dispensed his own form of mercy, as he moved determinedly towards the vehicle and the Taartuns within it. A low moan wafted from beneath a pile of snapped branches near to the front of the twisted cockpit and he hastily picked up one of the typical Taartun swords from the ground nearby. Poking aside the splintered vegetation, he revealed a small man, dressed in the curiously checked garment he had seen all of the Clansmen wear. Butt prodded the man with the end of the blade and was rewarded with a startled shout.

Jumping backwards, he drew his new-found laser pistol, transferring the sword to his left hand.

“W-w-where am I?” asked the individual in a dazed fashion.

“That’s exactly what I was going to ask you,” replied Cornelius, watching as the man struggled to his feet, holding one hand against the fresh wound in his side. He saw him scan the underbrush, probably looking for a weapon of some sort.

“Enough of that!” snapped Cornelius, waving his pistol for effect.

To his surprise, the man seemed more concerned about the sword than his pistol, tensing his body as though about to attack. Butt quickly snapped off a shot, which whistled past the man’s ear, causing him to collapse backwards onto the floor.

“Who are you?” he queried in a state of shock, “Where did you come from?”

“The back of your vehicle, trussed up like some piece of prime meat!” snarled Cornelius, the pistol firmly pointed at the face in front of him, which only wore a vacant expression. Suddenly, he knew that somewhere a local village was missing an idiot and groaned in frustration.

“Never mind that, you can start by telling me your name and what you were doing here!” he barked, waiting expectantly.

“My name is Kam, Kam Macadam,” he said warily eyeing the pistol, “All I do is drive, they give us papers and we go where they say. Papers. Drive. Papers. Dri…”

“Enough!” shouted Cornelius, “You’re giving me a headache!”

“Are you one of them?” demanded Kam, readying himself as though expecting a further rebuke.

“I don’t think so,” said Cornelius, “whatever one of them is. I just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; the story of my life really.”

Suddenly from behind the remains of the vehicle came a crashing and snarling, followed by the roar of a pistol round.

“Run!” Butt screamed taking off for the uncertain cover of the rocks, not waiting to see if Kam was following. The Clansman hesitated until he saw an armoured body fly through the air, a steaming hole gaping in its chest as it slammed into the tree next to him.

*

“Where are we going!” gasped Kam as he ducked under a low hanging branch, trying desperately to keep up with Cornelius, who was travelling extremely rapidly.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going in the opposite direction to that pistol fire, and,” said Cornelius, pointedly,” as fast as my stubby, little legs will carry me!”

With that he put on an extra burst of speed and left Kam struggling behind.

The Clansman stopped for a moment, trying to figure out why he was following his strange new companion. Struck by rock and wood chips, as a shot impacted close by; he decided it didn’t really matter and set off in pursuit.

*

One minute he was running at top speed and the next he was laid flat on his back. It felt as though he had run straight into a rock wall, and his bleeding nose tended to agree with his idea. The weird thing was that there was absolutely nothing to be seen.

“What happened?” asked Kam, concern in his voice.

“I have absolutely no idea,” mumbled Cornelius from behind the hand he held cupped under his nose to catch the stream of blood pouring down.

“Boundary shield?” asked Kam, cautiously extending his hand until it struck the invisible boundary. “Did you do that?”

Cornelius looked at him in amazement and simply pointed at his nose and raised his eyebrows.

“Ah, probably not, eh?” asked the Clansman, unbuttoning his trousers, and seeing Cornelius’ astonishment, “I desperately need to go. I can’t wait!”

Kam hurriedly went about his business, spraying urine in a childishly careless fashion. The results were unexpected to say the least. Whatever the stream of liquid connected with did not appear to agree with the procedure and Kam howled in pain. An electrical discharge shot across the distance separating the unfortunate Clansman from the force wall, making his strange hair stand on end in a most frightening manner.

Cornelius stared at the cameo for a moment and then collapsed in laughter onto the floor. “That...” he said between gasps, “...is the best thing that’s happened in a long time!”

Kam found it impossible to talk, his teeth chattering uncontrollably, until he at last finished and fell to his knees. After a short respite, he too began to laugh, and just for a while, they forgot about their pursuers.

*

“Hey!” shouted Kam, “Have you seen this?”

Cornelius walked over to stand next to him and gaped in complete surprise. Now the force field had vanished, what it had been protecting became obvious. A perfectly straight line cut across the verdant vegetation and beyond it was the unmistakable streets of a city. One, whose very structure looked battered and torn, as though it had suffered an interminable bombardment.

Partially hidden behind a crumbling façade was the burnt out shell of a tank, rusted and twisted it must have lain there a very long time. The streets appeared deserted and there was little noise, except the whistling of a chill wind which they could even now begin to feel.

“I really don’t like this”, said Cornelius, “someone is playing with our heads.”

“Pardon?” asked Kam, confusedly, he sometimes found it hard to understand Butts’ terminology.

“You better have this,” said Cornelius, handing over the short sword, “I don’t think it’ll be of much use, but you just never know:”

Glancing back, he could see Clari, hovering in mid-air and staring worriedly along their back trail. Quickly making up his mind, Cornelius started forward, “Come on,” he said, “it looks like we really have no option.”

“Move!” he repeated to the still gawking Clansman, and set off towards the city, Kam eventually following behind.

SDIV - El Juego Chapter Seven

2011-08-18T09:38:00.000-07:00

Unknown Location

Butt was sure he was going to die; he had been almost convinced of it waking up bound and gagged in the crate, positive in his assumption as the first shots were fired and now there was no doubt, as the turbulence of explosive impacts buffeted him.

His luck had been running out ever since he had borrowed the golden ticket, and right now it appeared to have reached rock bottom. With a vomit-inducing lurch his world went backwards, the crate smashing into what felt like a less than welcoming earth. Over and over it rolled, bouncing high into the air and slamming Cornelius generously into every one of the walls. With one final twist and slide, it came to a halt, the rear door parting in two and letting Cornelius see exactly what was going on; chaos, mayhem and blood-letting. Normally his kind of party, but not in his current predicament.

He could see the smoking ruin of what appeared to have been means of locomotion, bodies lay half-sprawled from the cockpit and a rough gaggle of men and women were making their way towards him. What he did not like, was the efficient way they handled the assault weapons in their hands, nor the uniforms they wore. Taartuns they were not.

The creature on his shoulder screamed a defiant challenge and Cornelius began to curse in frustration as he struggled to free himself.

*

She did not know why her Master remained bound on the floor, whilst enemies approached. His roars were loud, yet were made from a non-defendable prone position. Cocking her head to one side, she made a decision; someone needed to take him in hand. Delicately walking down his chest, she approached the ropes tied around his ankles, and dug her claws into the soft flesh of his thighs. With a yelp, Cornelius stopped struggling, and nodding in satisfaction, she flamed. It was a little indiscriminate in target, but served its purpose, although her Master seemed less than grateful. Scolding him, she prodded him onto his side and repeated the process, at last satisfied with her work.

*

“Crap!” swore Butt, as the unexpected burst of liquid fire sprayed over him, “Are you trying to kill me?”

There was of course no answer, Butt’s struggles and the corrosive offering combining to part his bonds. As sharp claws prodded at him, he turned to one side and steeled himself for more pain; in that he was not disappointed. One heave was all that was needed to wrench himself free, and gingerly rolling to his feet, he looked round for some weapon. A reassuring weight settled around his neck, and Cornelius stroked one hand against the creature’s head.

“I”, he said, “have the perfect name for you … Clari; just the right mixture of bile and affection.”

Purring softly, Clari nuzzled him, and then stared greedily out at the oncoming enemies. With her Master, death and destruction were always near.

*

Carefully, Butt inched his way out of the crate, making no sudden moves with which to startle the soldiers garbed as Church warriors. A shrill whistling sound seemed to signal something, as the soldiers threw themselves down onto the ground. Cornelius was puzzled, but only for a moment, as a barrage of missiles streaked down, striking the earth around him. It seemed as though the floor bucked upwards, tossing him in the air, before slamming him down to the ground. He hugged the dirt, his fingers scrabbling for non-existent purchase, and Clari warbled her joy.

No doubt the barrage lasted for a moment, but time seemed to extend itself, yet eventually it was over. Gingerly, Cornelius pulled himself to his feet, the sounds of injured and dying men permeating the air. Yet, Cornelius just was not feeling in a charitable mood. He scrambled across to where shrill moans indicated one of the soldiers lay, moving round behind a cluster of rocks. One of the explosive rounds must have landed close by, as the man lay propped against a rock, both hands pressed tightly against his stomach, whilst blood pumped rhythmically from the stump of his leg, sheared off just above his knee. No sympathy crossed Cornelius’ mind, this would have been his fate, if the fortunate counter-attack had not been successful. He actually was not feeling favourable to either side; collateral damage had been a given with their individual tactics.

A rifle was close by the man, yet he never moved, as Cornelius picked it up, checking its charge and functionality. A pistol was also clipped to the man’s belt, as was a wicked-looking knife.

Gasping in pain, the soldier now saw Cornelius and turned to him pleadingly.

“Help … me…” he prayed.

“Sure,” said Butt, raising the rifle and firing once.

Audiobook Review Blog

2011-08-02T10:50:00.000-07:00

After some musing, I decided that there are plenty of both dead tree and eBook reviews done. What seems to be less well covered is that of Audiobooks. Now this I don't like as I am a huge fan of this medium. Particularly when I am driving long distance, exercising or just trying to de-stress, on goes the well-known mp4 device and I lose myself. Not too much, but just enough.

There are some great FREE audiobooks, as well as some good stuff read by well-known actors. There are also popular paper books which really don't work in this medium. So, I have decided that my www.gerardawhitfield.blogspot.com BLOG will be dedicated to the audio version. Of course, there could be exceptions, but that's the plan.

I have reviewed a couple already and am just just finishing a series by Abigail Hilton, which will be next on my list. A Clue is that The Prophet of Panamindorah by Abigail Hilton is doing the necessary for me right now.

Watch this space...

Surprise, surprise

2011-07-25T10:53:00.000-07:00

More interesting facts, and this time about sales. Since starting at the turn of the year with self-publishing I have had varying success with "sales". Publishing to Amazon seemed a huge step originally and so I first published via Smashwords. Hey, you got distributed to all those other channels so it had to be better, no? Well, guess what, the answer is NO. Right now, and only from my personal experience, the answer is that the potential market via Amazon is an order of magnitude better than anything else. Whether it's due to already ingrained purchasing habits, the kindle or ease of navegation, I don't know. All I do know is that the difference has been huge up until now.

That was Lesson One. The time it takes for some form of recognition is Lesson Two and I'm still working on that. Seven months on and I have just had my first Kobo Sales. In terms of ranking as a distribution channel I have the following list:

1. Amazon
2. Smashwords
3. Sony
4. Barnes and Noble
5. Apple (this is skewed as they do not show FREE sales and I had two books in the FREE top 100 this month).
6. Kobo
7. The rest ( and here I mean Diesel)

As I say interesting. The trend is still positive which I count as a good thing. Two more books to be published before year end is my target, and I am still on track...honest!

Watch this space...

El Juego - SDIV Chapter Six Pt1

2011-07-19T03:40:00.000-07:00

First Class State Room
Prelate’s Light
Unknown Location
Fold Space

“You need to read this,” commented Shanna, throwing a rolled and partially chewed parchment in front of him, “there are things within in which concern you.”

“Cost-cutting?” grumbled Cornelius, as he put down his drink and indicated the high-tech machinery around him.

“This is a priceless relic ….” interrupted the young woman, but was angrily silenced by Shanna.

Butt grinned, feeling a little better at the effect his words had. Not malicious by nature, rather by training and at least partially vocation, Cornelius was apt to provoke instead of questioning. Unconscious responses could be extremely enlightening, but were always entertaining. Reaching for the scrap of paper, he unrolled it, using his brandy glass to weigh down one end, which again brought an outraged gasp. His little game was spoilt just a little, when he had to move the glass and turn the parchment the right way up. In order to drown out the tittering from Shanna, he began to read…

“…and then there will come to pass the birth of a mighty hero, steel-thewed and pure of heart, he will hearken to the call of the righteous. Tall, clean-limbed, of the greatest line of Taartun heroes, will he be. When the Egg, the Hero and the Blade are united, will our foes tremble.

Shattered earth and broken bones will litter the Tower. The Beast will be called forth at last, to do battle with the Taartun Hero and the …”

“Something missing?” asked Butt sarcastically, waving the parchment in the air.

“Yes!” snapped the young woman, “At least half the Mighty Hero!”

“Clari!” reprimanded Shanna, even whilst she hid her mirth, “He was rightfully chosen, there can be no doubt!”

“I meant,” stated Cornelius, as he reappropriated his drink and winked outrageously at Clari, “the other half of the parchment?”

“Ah...yes...” replied Shanna, patting her pockets, “I seem to have mislaid it, but I’m sure I’ll remember where I left it before you leave.”

“Leave?” queried Cornelius, “Not likely. I like it here.”

“Did I say anything about giving you a choice?” asked Shanna, as the muffled report of a pistol spat twice.

“No…” responded Cornelius, as the drink slipped out of his hand, in time with his hold on consciousness, “…actually…you didn’t…”

*

“Clari, put the weapon down!” snapped Shanna, as she spoke into her communications device, “he has been chosen.”

“As what?” asked Clari, her hostility apparent, “the favourite butt of everyone’s joke? Give me a break, learned one, which part of the prophecy does he actually fulfil? Steel-thewed, clean of limb, pure of heart, t…?”

“Of the Greatest Taartun line…”

“What?”

“Do not interrupt me again, girl!” Shanna warned her, “You heard me, and that!”, she snarled, pointing at the enraged creature, which stood on Cornelius’ chest, its tail lashing from side to side. “There is not a single way to fake the choice, She cannot be mistaken!”

“But ...” protested Clari.

“Exactly ...” replied Shanna, waving the Guards,and the net slung between them, forward, “Although you, my dear, are the least of my problems. I’m worried about the Blade, the last I heard, he was in an even worse state than this one, if that’s at all possible.”

Muttering to herself, the old hag rose to her full height and swung the cane over her shoulder. Whistled notes floated back towards the still surprised Clari, as Shanna sauntered after her unconscious charge.

Prison Complex Alpha
Luther

“It seems to be working, Sir,” the Inspector glanced at his assistant and the pile of papers in his hands.

“What would that be then?” he asked, “Have you some news?”

“I think I have,” replied the assistant , “true to his nature, our subject made the first contact. The Taartuns have him and things appear to be progressing nicely.”

“Speak plainly boy!” snapped the Inspector, “How many times must I remind you?”

“Our agent on board the liner indicates that Butt has disappeared, as have a number of influential passengers. The ship’s crew are not asking too many questions, they are in fact glad to see the back of him.

They dropped out of Fold Space temporarily to carry out an unexpected repair and the Taartuns demanded to leave the liner. Strangely enough one of their craft was nearby and they disembarked, taking all of their belongings with them.”

“And now?” queried the Inspector, “Where are they?”

“On their way, we believe to their final destination,” grinned the assistant.

“Oh, good,” smiled the Inspector, “send the pre-arranged message, then.”

The assistant nodded in agreement and left the Inspector alone. Time would tell whether Butt was the right person for the job or not. It did not do to have only one option though, and the call would bring just the right type of balance. He relaxed in his chair, folded his hands across his stomach and closed his eyes. He had time.

Unknown Location

He was somewhere dark, stale and rancid. Apparently his sojourn as the Mighty Hero had been short-lived, as even he could not see anyone treating their chosen one this way. Movement by his face and the familiar rubbing of scales against his cheek reassured him that he was not alone. At least there was one thing loyal to him in this universe, and that for Cornelius Butt was a first.

Voices outside prompted his survival response and he tried to call out, but something had been pushed into his mouth, deadening any sound. All movement was practically impossible, as he was bound hand and foot and mentally he had demoted himself from Hero to Death Row occupant in one swift breath. He must be inside a crate, because he felt himself lifted, the screech of metal against metal, and the rasp of ropes indicative of such movement. With a thud, his prison was dropped and landed on something, a transporter no doubt, and the sensation of travel began again.

Twisting, he saw the twin red orbs of his favourite creature next to him, if only the thing could talk, or was endowed with some supernatural skill, then at least he could pass the time, or even escape. Instead, he resigned himself to whatever fate was to come, the comforting presence of at least some light, helping to calm him. Cornelius was not fatalistic, he knew that he always got one chance; he just had to be ready for when it smacked him right between the eyes.

Some Interesting Facts

2011-07-14T05:36:00.000-07:00

As more people visit the site, join up on networked blogs or add themselves to the eMail list, analysis of verious blog statistics has some meaning. In fact the most interesting, for me anyway, is where various traffic comes from.

To give you all an idea, and if we talk about ALL visits since the blog was started, visitor country ranking is a follows:

1. United States
2. Spain
3. UK
4. Holland
5. Russia
6. Germany
7. Iran
8. Canada
9. Brazil
10. Poland

If we just look at this week then we have:

1. United States
2. Germany
3. Malaysia
4. Bielorussia
5. Spain
6. UK
7. India

These countries are those with significant visits, and it's good to see such a big spread geographically. Mind you, I must admit that I was surprised at some of the new entries in the charts. More to follow as I learn how to find the information.

Watch this space...

An Apology On Timing

2011-07-10T10:01:00.000-07:00

With A Cold Dish, I intended to draw together three plot lines. Beginning with SALIGIA, carrying on through SDII, III and IV and ultimately jumping a couple of generations to link with Urion’s Belt. Unfortunately, one of the things I have realised as I finish ACD is that it provides a MAJOR spoiler for SDIV, and we just can’t have that now, can we?

Therefore, publication/release timing will have to be altered and I will just have to finish SDIV earlier. My apologies to those of you have had a taster of ACD and are waiting to see how it turns out. The good thing is that it is all but complete, just needing a tweak and a final edit. The bad thing is that it will be after the release of SDIV before you can see the new chapters.

I will try and get SDIV finished as soon as possible, and once it is near, begin posting a serialised sample version of ACD. In the meantime, I will continue posting up to Chapter Eight of SDIV on this blog in preparation of its publication.

Watch this space...

El Juego - SDIV Chapter Five Pt2

2011-07-10T08:02:00.001-07:00

Returning to his previous position, his hands now clean and dry, Cornelius stared as the old woman’s skin began to change colour, the wrinkles disappeared as her neck elongated, her mouth lengthening into a snout and the eyes no longer hiding their intense green colour. Her flesh throbbed, light and sound combining, as with each deepening of shade, the initial purring became a rumble and then a growl.

The creature was no longer slumbering, but had moved to Butt’s shoulder, its red orbs whirling in tandem with the primordial beat emanating from the once-hag. Squinting at the apparition, Cornelius staggered to the bar and poured himself another drink; this was all getting just a little over the top for him. Then, when the stentorian voice boomed forth, he perched himself on the table’s edge and peered defiantly into one blazing eye.

“Witness. Listen. Silence. Mission.”

Butt snorted his laughter at what he saw as the ridiculousness of the situation, yet the now reptilian creature, its clothes sloughing off it, like some dead skin, hissed in insistence, and Cornelius wiggled his fingers in some kind of acceptance, before resting his elbow on his crossed knees. His studious pose was less than convincing, as his joint slipped free, causing him to slop brandy on his clothes.

“Shanna talks, and fools listen,” gurgled the voice, “or at least would be wise to do so.”

Realising that he could not maintain his pretence of sobriety, Cornelius had retired to his comfortable chair, and fighting off the onset of sleep, tried to concentrate, as whatever the woman had become continued. Her voice took on a sing-song quality, as though reciting a hard-learned, yet well-worn story and as she wove her strange spell, Cornelius almost unknowingly listened.

“From beyond the pale, cold depths of space, the dark forbidding emptiness and the explosive collisions of stars, comes death. It has waited long, schemed its cruel and heartless revenge, and even now steps onto the edge of our conscious knowledge. All should tremble, none will be spared, and yet, there still is hope. This chance, this impossibility, has a name and, a purpose.”

Head nodding on his chest, consciousness ebbing, Cornelius drifted into a strange twilight world, the old woman’s words painting a picture, which gradually shaped itself to existence. By his side, the little winged creature watched him avidly.

…He was standing on a strangely undulating plain, the wind swirling and whorling the waist-high grass. Ahead, far in the distance he saw a tall, fluted tower which seemed to spear defiantly into the sky. It was black, not the grey, reflective black of silken cloth, but the dead black of obsidian, of a tomb, of death itself. Tearing his glance away, he plodded forward, unable to stop, an almost magnetic force drawing him onwards.

Then, the top part of the tower uncoiled, spread huge wings and smote the sun-kissed clouds. Each beat of those wings, tore through the white cotton-like formations, destroying them as they drove the beast onwards. A huge maw opened and green fire lanced forth, followed by an earth-shaking scream of anger. Deep inside, Cornelius cringed, he knew that it came for him.

Looking down, he saw his clothing, the strange checked patterns mirroring those of the Clansmen, a sword held in one hand, and a rounded shield in the other. His body tall and lithe, muscles thrilling to the impending battle. As the horrible apparition came closer, a weight pressed down on him, forcing him to his knees, filling him with terror. The heroic warrior that was he cowered in fear and waited to die.

Butt was angry; this was not him, this beautified representative of a warrior class. He ate these idiots for breakfast, he spat on their corpses and no over-grown lizard was going to spoil his party. Reality was the suite of a cruise liner, a glass of brandy, soft sheets and a leggy brunette. Most he had, but he was short one beauty and that just wouldn’t do. Cursing and spitting, Butt tore his way forth in a shower of blood and bone. He drew his knives, spat in derision and crouched ready to fight. A tail was wrapped round his neck, a small screaming voice rose in communion with his defiance and Cornelius laughed…

Shanna watched him struggle, saw his indomitable spirit and his sheer bloody-mindedness, and smiled. Cornelius would do, he was anything if conventional, but she had a feeling that he was everything they needed and more. Slowly, she relaxed, her features returning to that of the wizened hag. When he woke, she would tell him of the prophecy, the significance of his vision and what he must do. The only worry that she had, was how to convince him that he was the one who had to carry out this mission. After a moment’s pause, she giggled almost girlishly and shouting at the top of her voice, summoned her suited assistant. Shanna had the perfect solution, one that would have Cornelius falling over himself to comply and then nothing would stand in her way.

*

Clopping his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and running its fur-lined extremity over painfully sensitive teeth, Cornelius struggled awake. Glue seemed to coat his eyes, sticking recalcitrant lids together, and it took a supreme effort to open them even a crack. Spasmodic focussing brought light and shadow, which suddenly coalesced into a dream-like vision. An abundant cleavage lay but a small distance from his blinking eyes and unconsciously Cornelius’ groping hands reached out.

Reality arrived with a pleasant surprise and a tremendous blow, which rocked his head backwards just as his questing fingers touched bare flesh. Once again blackness enveloped him as a mocking laugh pealed out.

It took a little while for Butt to struggle forth into the light again, and this time the vision awaiting him was different, less welcomed. Gingerly he peeked forth and screamed in repugnance, a wrinkled, saliva flecked chin loomed into his vision, like a senile turtle poking forth.

Cackling with glee, Shanna watched the man wrench himself backwards, his constant passenger protesting shrilly. By her side, a well-endowed young woman smirked complacently.

“That,” spat Butt, regaining his composure and his chair, “was uncalled for...”

“Oh, I don’t know, “replied Shanna, “it gave me a kick”

“Those, “grumbled Cornelius, “are for free...”

Shanna sucked at her teeth, regarding Butt with a less than approving expression and then she shrugged, as though her feelings were unimportant.

“I would,” she said, “introduce you to my niece, but as you are already on intimate terms, I will gloss over the formalities.”

It took a moment for Butt’s foggy mind to place the good-looking young woman, but as his eyes lingered on the top of her bulging blouse, his jaw began to ache in sympathetic resonance. No words passed his lips, rather a grim smile and a respectful nod of his head; the moment deserved no comment, only a response. That would come in his own time.

“Would you like to know, what the fates have in store for you?” asked Shanna, with a strangely respectful inflection in her voice.

“Just get on with it!” muttered Cornelius, “Your niece and I need to reconcile our differences; this cruise won’t last forever!”

Shanna heard the curse by her side, watched the doubt and confusion form in the red-rimmed eyes before her and, not for the first time, questioned Cornelius’ involvement.

SALIGIA Now Published On Amazon

2011-07-03T14:13:00.000-07:00

AS promised, here is the notice of SALIGIA's publication on Amazon. There will be a later publication run on Smashwords later this week.

Thanks once again to those who have helped, listened and read. Opinions are always good and help to mould the finished product. A special thanks to my friend Manolo Guerrero who kindly gave me copies of some of his work a couple of years ago in Huelva, and permission to use them in future cover art. Gracias Manolo otra vez.

A Cold Dish will be published later this month.

Enjoy and Watch This Space...

El Juego - SD IV Chapter Five Pt 1

2011-07-01T06:00:00.000-07:00

Chapter Five

First Class State Room
Prelate’s Light
Unknown Location
Fold Space

Cornelius watched her as she swirled the alcohol round in the glass, sniffing at it, sticking her tongue in, sipping then spitting it back, before she suddenly gulped the liquid down. Her neck pulsed curiously, as the liquid disappeared, swelling and turning a strange shade of red, in a most disconcerting fashion. As she finished and moved to place her glass back on the table, she glanced briefly at him over the rim. A strange clear membrane flicked across her eyes, and for just a moment Cornelius would have sworn that they blazed, with an intense green light.

The brandy burned in his throat, causing coughs to wrack his body and tears to stream from his eyes. When he was composed again, he wiped his eyes and looked up. The old woman sat relaxed, a full glass in her hand.

“How ...?” began Cornelius, but she ignored him, hawking once deep in her throat and casting around for somewhere to spit. Not finding anywhere convenient, she grimaced, swallowed and then gulped down some more alcohol.

She laughed at the disgusted look on his face and leaned forward, staring intently at the creature wrapped around Cornelius’ neck, before speaking.

“So,” she crooned, “it has at last begun.”

“That’s nice to know,” quipped Butt, sipping at his drink and waiting for her reaction.

“Fool!” she hissed, “Even now, you have no idea what you have done, have you?” She did not wait for his answer, but continued on, “The Clans have been waiting generations for her birth, they’ve robbed and murdered solely to position themselves as the prophesised ones. A princess was groomed in all their foul skills and traditions, and what happens?”

Now she gave reign to her laughter, gasping for breath, “Cor...nelius Butt ...that’s ...what.”

He really did not see the reason for her seemingly incontrollable humour, after all his reputation preceded him; he had yet to totally fail a mission.

“No ... don’t ...speak,” she said, then gaining some semblance of control, “it’s just that sometimes the irony of it all is too much to bear. What do you know of the Taartuns?”

“The who?” asked Butt, answering her question in full.

“Your new comrades,” she said, indicating the door, “and the creature’s adoring followers.”

Grunting in response, Butt took another swig and the woman continued, “There is, as I have mentioned, a prophecy concerning the creature. A doom-laden tragedy waiting to happen for some and immortality for one other. Would you like to hear about it?”

“Not particularly,” replied Butt, rising from his seat and walking towards the bathroom in an attempt to annoy the hag. She had yet to introduce herself and Cornelius was getting a little bit tired of her. “I’ve got my little cruise to finish and then we’ll see what happens,” he said as he finished his pressing chore.

SALIGIA - Publication in July

2011-06-28T01:50:00.000-07:00

SALIGIA is a novella I wrote as an exercise in explanation. Many of the Tauran characters who would appear in the Sudden Dearth series needed fleshing out; descriptions both physical and motivational. Set well before SD it also helps to lay the ground for Urion's arrival, linking both SD and Urion's Belt.

I use seven short stories, woven in a plot-line to introduce and hopefully explain these characters further. Due to their inherent natures, each of the characters cameos in one of the Seven Deadly Sins, hence SALIGIA. One means of ingraining the concept of the SDS in Medieval times was the creation of the mnemonic "SALIGIA" based on the first letters in Latin of the seven deadly sins: superbia, avaritia, luxuria, invidia, gula, ira, acedia.

Two of these stories did appeared in my collection The Gift earlier this year, but here are set in their correct context. A soldier, Leftenant Geriond Devane is used as a common device, and truth be told he does not have a good time of it. I will annouce the actual publication date soon, hoping to have everything ready by the second week of July.

Watch this space...

The Power of being FREE

2011-06-26T04:54:00.001-07:00

It is a theme which I keep touching on, but since being touched by the Amazon phenomenon it has really interested me. From a small fanbase to 10,000 "sales" in two months, seems rather surreal, but that is the reality of Kindle. Now these are FREE sales I know, but as an advertising tool invaluable. No matter which guru of publishing you talk to, read, or listen to, word-of-mouth is still a huge marketing channel. Right now, there are 10,000 (or any combination of that number) more people with a copy of one of my novels or short stories.

Well, I hear you say, they might not like your work and will give you a poor review, but Im not so sure. No, let me explain, I'm not egotistical enough to think that everyone likes my stuff, nor thinks it's perfect or couldn't do with being used as kindling. Nope, what I mean is that you have to raise passion of one sort or another in a person for them to give a review, and that's good. The majority will NOT review. How many of us buy a book in the shop, or online and write a review on it for others? A minority of us is the truth. This does not mean that we liked or loathed it any less, but we are more likely to tell somebody else about it in conversation or on a forum, rather than write a review.

When I write a review, I do so in my own way. I don't point out typo's, or whether the author has the correct POV or could improve their writing craft. Rather, I say whether I liked it or not and why. I do give a warning to those who ask me for a review, saying exactly that. I have seen too many reviews given which spark a food-fight, and to be honest, in that case it's better that the author neither asks for a review nor the reader gives it.

Getting back to the theme of this blogpost - I like FREE, in fact all of my short stories are free on one or other of the main distribution channels. I intend, for now, to keep it that way. If you want, tell a friend about them, and keep checking here as there will be new work available real soon.

Watch this space...

Free on Kindle - How do they know?

2011-06-24T05:01:00.000-07:00

I have no qualms posting this very pushy button (no pun intended) as AKnC remains FREE on Amazon.com. Latest statistics, after just over an hour, are 3000 downloads more or less. Great exposure for this and other works of mine.

In an effort to see how the information on AKnC was disseminated, i.e. the fact it had been made FREE, I went surfing. It's amazing the number of linked sites which pass on this information. All of them, rightfully so if they haven't read any of the works, add a disclaimer giving no guarantee of quality. Others clearly point out "real" publishers and those independent guys and gals, even capitalizing the word to make sure no-one misses the fact. Not sure what that means - perhaps that we are more important, with a capital I of course.

Tags and genre labels don't seem to translate well with auto-generation and I've seen some great (without a capital G) examples of this. However I can't, or at least shouldn't complain, as AKnC has reached number 39 in the Kindle Free Charts in just over a day. I eagerly await what happens next.

Watch this space....

FREE - Does Amazon Love me?

2011-06-23T03:30:00.000-07:00

It's a question I have to ask as Amazon.com has now made A Knight's Charge FREE. This time there was no warning eMail, just the surprise of 400 downloads when I checked this morning!

Now, I'm not sure whether someone let them know of the fact that AKnC was free on other Distribution Channels, or they just decided to kindly give me a boost, but I'm not complaining. Unfortunately it is not FREE on Amazon.co.uk yet, but I will keep checking.

Whatever happens, it helps to give my other work exposure and hopefully it will continue to generate other sales. You will probably notice that I'm not complaining.

Watch this space...

Pricing - Decisions, decisions...

2011-06-22T09:29:00.000-07:00

I said pricing, not piercing, although they probably do have something in common. The decision about whether to get body art or even which price point to go for takes time, the quellng of fear and of course the worry about what people think. Now, at eighteen it is so-o-o-o much easier to make that decision - F*$k 'em, I'm a rebel. Now though...well yeah, I'm still a rebel.

Many people ask why, or even look down upon work which is priced at 99p or 99c. It must be crap, right? If it was any good you'd be able to sell it for 6.99 at least. Personally I don't think it follows - the logic that a book priced at 6.99 is SEVEN times better than one that is FREE or costs just 99c doesn't wash. I am sure we can all point to expensive books that we thought were not worth 1c, and equally the other end of the scale applies.

So, I've decided to price my books how I like, and I reserve the right to change my mind whenever I feel like it. Right now all my short stories are free ;P, you just need to know where to look. Remember now "f*$k 'em. I'm a rebel!"

Blogs and Marketing

2011-06-19T13:29:00.001-07:00

As I swim through the murky waters of book marketing, I see all sorts of advice, ideas and schemes to sell more books. There are a number of people who claim to sell immense quantities of books and yet without direct knowledge, we can only take their word. Now I am not here talking about the well-publicised small number who clearly do have large sales, share their numbers and are even snapped up belatedly by the majors. Forum threads talk of 5K this month, 120K so far this year...join the club, and especially my fellowship...you've no doubt seen the same threads.

There are author tagging threads, author mutual blog following, twittering and facebook fan pages. Tagging is something claimed to generate sales by increased public awareness. Mutual blogging gets your feed seen and potentially more feet crossing your threshold, as does the joint liking and subscription to FB Fan pages and Groups.

Me, and I readily admit this, I am linked to a lot of FB Groups and pages and the truth is that I only really take notice of the comments and posts of nine or ten. This must mean that I am not fulfilling my marketing potential, as does my brief dabble into the Tagging foray on Amazon. To be truthful the biggest impact on and exposure to me was via the Amazon free offer of A Guiding Light. This has now ended, but if Amazon is listening, The Wildwose is still free on Smashwords and Apple!

So, what have I done? I have gone back to my trusted and favourite forums, decided to start my own review thread and continued to write, posting excerpts from my work. I think that this slow and steady approach will help to build and satisfy those who like my work whilst removing the franctic stress caused by trying too hard. Oh, and don't forget Amazon...Wildwose, free on Smashwords and iBooks.

Watch this space...

A Cold Dish - July Publication

2011-06-18T02:15:00.000-07:00

For quite some time A Cold Dish remained steady at Fifteen Chapters. It wasn't that I'd run out of ideas, rather that the rest of the novels had to catch up. Finally with the release of SDIII and with the plot for SDIV revised, its patience was rewarded.

Although set in the Urionverse, its timeline rests between the events in the SD series and before that of Urion's Belt. It is a tale of vengeance, deception, pain and retribution. I enjoyed writing it!

Here is the summary of the novel and I will post some excerpts here over the next couple of weeks.

Watch this space...

A violent storm can pick up an innocent babe, whirl it high and deposit it unharmed many miles away. Annihilation is more likely though

Cruel mistakes are terrible things. James McBride made his first one when he murdered a woman and her two children under the hidden influence of the Church. His greatest error was to leave her husband alive. Caught up in his own plans for power, he unknowingly awoke a violent storm. This storm had a name, Juan Escola, whose response was swift and deadly. When Juan was finished, there would be little left of McBride, the Church or the world.

El Juego - SD IV Chapter Four Part2

2011-06-17T02:49:00.000-07:00

Private Yacht
Princess Marie
Fold Space

The yacht’s forward velocity bled slowly away, as the warring tug of gravity took hold. Without the braking kiss of atmosphere it still moved away from the Flagship, yet the remote drone busily went about its duty. Light flared from the bow of the drone as twin cylindrical shapes shot out. Once past the yacht they opened, a microfine net spun free, linked equally to the two cylinders. The Princess Marie ploughed into the net, the movement activating retro rockets which fired, burning their payload madly as they drove themselves back towards the drone. Twin arms clicked into place, catching the net as it was drawn back. Clamps locked in place and the drone fired its own thrusters, killing the yacht’s forward motion and dragging the now immobile craft back towards the Flagship.

*

Alana woke, her mind groggily trying to make sense of the lights and sounds around her.

“Hit her with another shot,” said a disembodied voice, “awake she could be a handful.”

“Should we remove the armour?”

“Fool!” the first voice snarled, “This one and its companions will be a useful trump card. Sedate them and prepare them for delivery, then freeze them.”

She tried to move, her armour responding to her mental commands for a brief instant, before she once more was overcome by a muggy haze. Drugs, she was being sedated. No!

“Watch out!”

One ceramic wing flicked open, its serrated edge cutting deeply into one of her captor’s legs. She was unaware of the damage caused and missed the sardonic laughter which followed her into slumber.

“This one looks promising,” said the disembodied voice, “I know just where I’ll use her.”

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

A new moon hung threateningly in the night sky, its arrival had stressed the seas, causing further damage to an already battered land mass. The Construct was massive; it had grown gradually as debris and detritus had been attracted and absorbed during its journey. Its owner collected souls, yet they came with baggage and so that had been accepted too.

“As melodramatic as ever, Brother,” whimpered Beelzebub, the pain of his Brother’s mind had driven him to his knees. His followers lay bleeding and moaning by his side.

“You will join me...”

It was a statement, not a request and Beelzebub was too weak to refuse.

“Of course,” he replied, trying desperately to hide his real thoughts.

“You were always transparent. Your thoughts and desires are inconsequential at this time. Keep it that way and I will let you live.”

Laughter greeted his response and Beelzebub began to pray.

Writing Objectives

2011-06-16T03:44:00.000-07:00

I was recently asked what my timings were with respect to future works. It gave me pause to think and try and flesh out the timing on the rest of the year, well the next couple on months anyway. So, here goes:

A Cold Dish - this novel has been waiting in the wings whilst I waded through the process of editing, formating and publication on Kindle and Smashwords. My expectation is to finish editing and publish before the end of July.

El Juego - Sudden Dearth Bk IV - This one is scheduled for end August/early September, as I have been tweaking the plot line a little.

SD Book V - The plan is to have a little rest and begin this work near year-end ready for Publication Feb/March of next year.

In the meantime I will be inaugurating the first reviews on my review blog.

Watch this space...

Widgets and Gadgets

2011-06-14T07:53:00.000-07:00

As I am learning all of the time, I decided to see what different widgets and gadgets may be useful for this blog. This particular one allows direct links to Amazon via their associates program. Not sure whether I will use it, but useful to see how it works.

On seeing the Buy Now box, please don't panic...this novel is still FREE to download on Amazon.com.

Sudden Dearth Book IV Chapter Four Part II will be following soon.

Are You Sitting Comfortably?

2011-06-13T14:00:00.000-07:00

So, decisions made, first reviews in the works and there's no turning back now. What will become obvious is that the first reviews are of perhaps less well known and/or more independent authors. They are authors I have found or who asked to be part of my Kindle Trip.

I had a large selection of works to choose from and I will begin with those that I enjoyed as a sample, before the full novel version. This is a good way of looking at and "tasting" novels, wetting the toe so to speak. My view was that if they hooked me as samples, then it boded well for a more complete version.

As I said previously they are a mix of SF and Horror and I will be posting the reviews on my separate blog. The first four are:

Something Evil by Cal Noble
The Ultimate Choice by Lisa Hinsley
Elysium Burning by DDD Bryeton
Invasion by William Miekle.

Keep an eye out for my posts...

Reviews

2011-06-12T09:13:00.000-07:00

A while ago on the Amazon Kindle forum, I asked people to pitch me in order to get onto my Kindle for a business trip I was taking. The rule was that people asked, I downloaded a sample and those I liked went on the trip with me (well their books anyway...). I tended to stick with SF and Horror, although no-one got turned away.

Having worked through the list, chosen my companions and completing the trip, I was left with a fair few review notes. Another promise I made was to post my thoughts somewhere. Having done that it came to me that I should have a seperate Blog to this one, in which I could give my opinion, do reviews and genrally cover things not specifically within the Urionverse. So that is what I will do.

I'm working on the page now and hope to kick it off this week. First reviews will be my notes from that trip, and I'll post the list of those books shortly. Having linked this blog to Goodreads, the reviews will be available there too.

Watch this space...

The Gift - Author's Note

2011-06-11T10:05:00.001-07:00

This collection of short stories is made up of a strange mixture. The Urionverse has become fixed within my mind over the last few years, with the original outline drawn within my novel Urion’s Belt. This novel, strangely enough, has yet to be published, but it does lay down a flagpole in terms of the general timeline of other stories. My Sudden Dearth series is set four to five hundred years before the events in Urion’s Belt, and its task is to explain how Urion’s Belt came into being.
The Wildwose, A Knight’s Charge and A Cold Dish are placed on the timeline before Sudden Dearth and are intended to describe a little of the worlds and cultures formed within the burgeoning sphere of the Protectorate. Euthan Palace is set three hundred years after Urion’s Belt and describes a more technologically developed Urionverse. At the other end of the scale sits SALIGIA, a novella made up of seven short stories and a common theme. Its purpose is to describe the pantheon of Tauran demons and the reason for their interaction with humanity.

So, finally we reach this collection which is made up of four separate stories, each set in a different time zone on this convoluted story path. The Dark Wheel fits closely with the timeline of Urion’s Belt, with the Protectorate well-established and confident, willing to use every means possible to maintain its power. Four Minutes, and its three following and interlinked companions, take place on or around the time of The Wildwose and introduce a memorable character who takes part in the Sudden Dearth Series. Superbia and Luxuria are two of those seven deadly short stories which make up the whole that is SALIGIA.

I hope that this provides a little bit of background and, particularly for those who have already dabbled in some of my work, context.

El Juego - SDIV Chapter Four Pt1

2011-06-11T03:23:00.000-07:00

Chapter Four

Private Yacht
Princess Marie
Fold Space

The vagaries of Fold Space affected everyone differently. There were some who spoke of psychedelic nightmares, yet to Alana it had always been a gut-wrenching entry, weeks of boredom and an even worse exit. Not this time. From the exact second of entry she had suffered; vomiting until there was nothing left to project, blood dripping from nose and ears and the awful wailing sound which threatened to collapse her skull. Something had changed and she could only think that it had been Viker.

Their pilot was unconscious and so the craft continued on its unknown course, with no indication of the duration of their torture. Alana just wanted it to stop. Her last conscious thought was of the pain increasing, heightening her agony and then darkness claimed her.

*

Space shimmered and the Princess Marie re-entered reality smoothly. Those within her protective steel shell whimpered and cried, vomited and bled, and some even died with the strain of their passage. Faint tendrils of light clung for a brief instant before dissipating into the surrounding blackness. This was the last touch of their erstwhile Lord, whose pique had turned him into a murderer. Momentum continued her flight as she left Fold Space, yet it was the only velocity she had. Her engines lay idle and the craft drifted until gravity caught her and pulled her relentlessly in.

Game Control
Flagship
Unknown Location

“Scan them.”

There was a grunt of acceptance and the console whirred.

“Small yacht. General rabble...although we do have armoured personnel.”

“Elite troops?”

“The scan shows a pleasing level of technology...and something else,” the silver-haired man slapped his hand against the screen, causing the readout to shiver and then clear.

“Nope. It’s gone now.”

His companion laughed, “Segregate the soldiers and place the others in Zone Two. If nothing else, they will make a useful food source.”

In response to the hammering of fingers on the keyboard, the Flagship’s main hold opened releasing a bulky craft which moved purposefully towards the yacht. On board the private vessel, Alana still slept oblivious of her impending danger.

Kindle Download Experience

2011-06-10T01:17:00.001-07:00

As promised, here is a resume of my experience of being free on Kindle over the last month. A Guiding Light (SDII) was picked up by Amazon as being free on Smashwords/Apple/B&N and hence the price was adjusted on Amazon, in both the US and UK. Around 200 other books were adjusted at the same time and we had a mass download frenzy. Since that date, people have continued to visit and download AGL at a steady rate.

True to form, Amazon put the price back up with no warning, first in the UK and then in the US this morning. It will be interesting to see what the download pattern changes to.

What I do know is that 4000+ copies were downloaded, some liking AGL enough to then purchase the other two books in the series. Traffic to this blog and my Facebook page increased, which bodes well for later in the year when El Juego (SDIV) is published.

Curiously enough, Amazon did not discount The Wildwose which is also FREE at SW/Apple/Sony/B&N. AGL continues to be FREE at these other sites and Kindle lovers can download AGL FREE at Smashwords in the right format for their machines. This will not change and I'll be publicising this elsewhere. Maybe whoever told Amazon about AGL, will also tell them about The Wildwose???

Watch this space...

Kindle Update

2011-06-08T11:10:00.000-07:00

Just a quick blognote to say that all of my completed books, novellas and short stories are now available on Kindle in both the US and the UK. Also in Germany, but as they have yet to be translated into German I don't think we'll see much traffic from there.

The big Kindle Freebie resulted in 4000+ downloads, from which I would expect to get some feedback as people get round to reading and enjoying their Kindle contents.

Thanks to Diggory Steele-Perkins and Manolo Guerrero for their brilliant Cover Art.

El Juego is real close to completion and I will make sure there is an update on status and full publication date.

Thanks again for your support. Cheers...

El Juego - Sudden Dearth Book IV Chapter 3

2011-06-07T03:34:00.000-07:00

First of all an apology and an addition has now been made to the blog post Chapter One. It seems that I forgot to post Part 2 to the Chapter. Now corrected, hope you enjoy it and here below is Chapter Three.

Chapter Three

Prelate’s Light
Geosynchronous Orbit
Luther

It was dark inside the crate; cold, dark and distinctly uninviting. She had been waiting for Millennia for the call and yet when she responded, there were none to hear her. Nothing stirred outside the prison and so she began the laborious task of breaking free. One egg tooth was all she had in order to rupture the membrane and wall surrounding her. Once clear of that, she would take whatever further steps necessary to secure her freedom.

*

Cornelius strode down the corridor, taking small detours whenever he heard the approaching sound of footsteps. He realized that his predicament was less than optimum, in fact so far everything that could hit the fan, had suicidally charged forward to do so. Butt knew that if he could get to the main hanger, there was at least some chance of his finding an escape pod or some small craft, with which he could make good his escape. That was his theory anyway.

At last he found, by more trial and error than knowledge, his way to the main hanger deck, and the sight that faced him, really made him think again about the intelligence of his actions. Skulking forward past the last crates, he came to an open area and two ranks of Clansman, swords drawn, and waiting for him.

He knew that it was him that they were looking for, as their roar of anger and the subsequent charge, really emphasized the point. Being a little short, of weapons that is, he kicked the nearest crate forward, watching it slam into the shins of the first two of the onrushing horde, to subsequently cause a minor traffic jam. With the apparent success of his first attempt, he began to toss some of the smaller crates forwards, anything to buy himself time.

When he had just about run out of ammunition, he looked frantically around for the exit and there above, he saw a walkway which seemed to run around the upper tier of the hanger. Not waiting for further options, he ran up a series of wooden boxes, using them as an improvised stair. Just when he thought he was clear of his followers and about to reach his goal, his lead foot broke through the lid of one of the boxes, unceremoniously dumping him, his makeshift tower and all the surrounding merchandise back onto the hanger floor.

Eager hands tugged the debris free and pulled him, despite his protestations into the centre of the circle of angry men. The whine of a contra-grav chair, told him that his day was complete, as Jenna’s shrill voice caused the sea of men to part before her.

“Now...” she shrieked, “you will p…”

Her voice dwindled away, about the same time as Cornelius felt the scrabbling of claws against his back. Sharp points pierced his skin, as a fairly weighty something dragged its way up him. There was no desire within him to turn and see what abomination was there and he stood rigid as it reached his shoulders and a sinuous tail curled around his neck. Hot breath sawed against his cheek and turning his head slightly he saw a bright red reptilian eye, staring back at him.

Looking towards his would-be enemies he was astounded at the change in them; complete silence, mouths open and some form of stammered salutation. Never one to miss out on an opportunity, Cornelius moved forwards, the creature’s small head butting lovingly against his cheek. This looked like it might be fun.

*

Jenna was just about to savour the demise of the biggest, relatively speaking, thorn in her side, when her world caved in around her. That which they had searched, killed and tortured for, sat hissing at them from its perch on Butt’s shoulder. Of all of the possible scenes she had replayed in her head of this triumphant moment, never in her wildest dreams had the piggy-eyed and Mohican-topped face before her, played a starring role.

The site of the lop-sided and self-satisfied grin on Cornelius’ face caused something deep inside her to snap. With a screech she dragged a laser pistol free from the belt of the Clansman next to her and aimed directly for the leering countenance in front of her. Her action was met by a scream of rage, and Cornelius newest and, truth be told, only friend launched herself forward. With outstretched neck and her body tautly in line, she appeared as an arrow launched directly from a bow. Straight and true she sped, at the last moment opening her mouth once more as though to cry a challenge. No sound came from her scaled visage, rather a spurt of greenish liquid, whose coruscating force burst directly against Jenna’s snarling lips.

A scream was heard, a shrill protestation of agony as the bright fluid melted its way through skin and bone. No laser fire came forth, the pistol dropped and forgotten as useless hands clawed in desperation at a ravaged and disappearing face. Wings spread, the creature looped round past the dying woman, a haughty stare passing briefly over the shocked and cowering Clansmen, before she lovingly came to rest on Cornelius’ shoulder, her head once more caressing the ugly man’s face.

“Well,” said Cornelius after a few moments of stunned silence, “it really hasn’t been her day, has it?”

*

Reinstalled back in his stateroom, Cornelius was more than a little confused. In fact, he was approaching the state of incomprehension, usually reserved for a heavy session of drinking in the Forked Tongue. Strangely though, the glass of brandy still sat on the table in front of him, untouched. His new companion lay curled around his neck, like a leathery stole, her chest rising and falling in contentment. She had fed off his dinner plate, eating just about everything placed before her, and then slowly crawled up Cornelius’ chest, until she found her current resting position.

The other extremely disconcerting fact, was the Honour Guard, apparently he had gone in an instant from reviled, to be spat upon, enemy, to some type of revered personage. Two of the Clansman now stood permanently on guard outside the door of his suite. At first he had thought himself a prisoner, but his rebellious stroll around the upper deck had merely seen the men fall into line behind him, hands on swords and eyes alert and protective.

It was all rather galling, his plan to remain unseen in his cabin for the whole journey had now become intolerable, and all because of this strange, scaled and winged creature. Angrily he raised his hand as though to wrench her off him, but as soon as his fingers touched her soft and contented body, he relented. No-one, not even the parents who had sold him to the local Parish Circus, had ever defended him before. She had killed in his defence, and all she wanted was to be with him. That was enough for Cornelius now, and he leaned back in his chair, determined to take advantage of the momentary lull in attempts on his life, to catch up on his rest.

This was not to be, as just as he had closed his eyes, the door chime sounded and shortly after, one of the Clansman ushered in a wrinkled old crone, a supercilious looking suit and the Ship’s Captain. Cornelius grinned as the old woman used her cane to whack the suited man’s hand away, as he tried to help her, and prodded the Ship’s Captain in the backside, causing him to yelp involuntarily.

“Out of my way”, she snapped, “the Dwarf and I have lots to talk about!”

*

Now, Cornelius knew he was short, had come to terms with his height restrictions and in fact generally played on them, but no-one called him a Dwarf and got away with it.

“What do you want, you old hag!” he snapped, taking his feet off the table.

“Ooh, I think I’m going to like you, Shorty!” she cackled, plumping herself into the chair opposite him, “Not a lot, of course, as I really don’t like anyone!”

Butt stared at her for a moment and then roared with laughter, “Do you want a drink?” he asked sarcastically, as the witch-like creature appropriated and downed his brandy in one.

“That would be nice,” she said, proffering the empty crystal glass to the suited man, “but pour me a proper-sized drink this time”, she ordered the cowering man, “I know they call them Shorts, but come on...”

Again, Cornelius howled with laughter and shambled over to the bar himself, making sure that his drink was every bit as charged with alcohol as hers. He retook his position in his chair once more, gulped down some brandy, smacked his lips and bade the woman continue.

“You!” she snarled, pointing at the Captain, “and you!”, she continued, her finger stabbing weapon-like towards each of them, “are not needed. Begone!”

With that she sank back into her chair and grinned mischievously at Cornelius, who winked back at her, called for his Guards and waited for them to escort the unwanted men out.

“Now,” he said, “How’s about telling me what this is all about?”

The old woman held up her hand, motioning him to wait, poured the brandy down her throat in one, belched in satisfaction and smiled her wicked little smile again.

“Be a good boy and get me another drink, and I’ll tell you how you’re going to save the Universe!”

El Juego - Sudden Dearth Book IV Chapter 2

2011-06-02T05:36:00.000-07:00

Chapter Two

Kermadec Island
Macaulay
Disputed Zone

“How are they doing?”

Viker sprawled nonchalantly across his Command Chair, wings trailing across the ground. Even in apparent untidiness he looked at home. His chest was bare, the power surging through him gave both heat and sustenance. More followers appeared every day, swearing undying devotion to his banner. With each new convert came a further trickle of energy. Now he knew how Walters felt. For a brief moment, he wondered where his former mentor was, but soon dismissed the thought.

“Do we have enough ships?”

“We will have. More flock to your banner, some bringing their own off-world transport. Confiscation of material is done more as a donation. There is no problem.”

“Private yachts,” scoffed Viker, “will be of no use to us.”

“I disagree, My Lord,” replied Johns, “Their mere presence attracts others. We have sent these yachts and their crews out recruiting. Two new transports arrived today.”

“How long must we wait?”

“Give me two more weeks,” said Johns, “and your fleet will almost be as good as new”

“Very well,” said Viker, “now what can I do to amuse myself in the meantime?”

Johns watched as Viker gazed at a pair of his female servants. He was uncomfortable with the changes he was seeing in his former section member. There was a gradual shift in his determination of right and wrong, and Johns was unhappy with the new direction.

*

Alana watched Viker from the shadows. He knew she was there but did not care. This self-indulgence rubbed raw; an Angel was bright, luminous, a beacon to all. His winds spread wide, enfolding the weak and helpless. What he did not do was take advantage, sneer at lesser folk, and it galled.

She met his eyes as he looked over the girl’s bare shoulder. There was no need to say a word. Death hung as a promise in the depths of his once bright orbs. It was time and Alana knew it. She turned away, his laughter following her down the corridor. Once outside the building she continued on, looking for her section members and ignoring Johns’ call. They had spoken about this moment in whispers and it was time to act.

*

“Let them go,” Viker said wearily, the thunder of the yacht’s thrusters ringing round the chamber.

“They are traitors,” snarled Johns, his own love for Viker blinding him to the obvious.

“That they are, and we will deal with them in our own time. They are, however, of no real consequence to our current plans.”

“We are leaving?” Johns eagerness was apparent.

“Yes. I have sated my curiosity for this world. Pick out the healthy and apt, we leave in the morning.”

“And the rest?”

“Not my concern,” said Viker waving him away “they were dying before we came, and that won’t change when we leave Forget about them.”
Johns’ conscience did awaken for a brief moment, but he shrugged it off. He almost mentioned to Viker the need to clean his wings; red streaks mixed with the normally white feathers, but again it went from his mind as quickly as it had arrived.

Viker smiled as Johns left. The power which suffused hs body needed an outlet and there was none to be had in helping people. Well, there was, but it was not the power he was looking for.

Private Yacht
Princess Marie
Outer System Limits
Macaulay
Disputed Zone

“Now where to?” asked Shin, one of the seven members of Alana’s squad who had lifted with her.

“We have the courses already plotted which we were intending to follow. I suggest we skip a world. That will give us a breathing space.”

“Alana,” said Shin, “these worlds are burnt out. We’ve got a yacht full of refugees here and don’t expect to find anything better along the way. What’s your real plan?”

She couldn’t put it into words, but she had felt a familiar tug, a presence still watching over her. Alana was not a Eyatolian. Luther was her world and she had followed one man off planet. He would know what to do, if he would have them back. A self-deprecating laugh escaped; the mirror showed her how much they had changed, their fine features and high foreheads mimicking the change in Viker. Their armour’s ceramic wings did not belong with their former unit. That though could change.

“We’re going home,” she said, “and I want this...” she pointed at the Angel’s emblem, “..removing straight away.”

“Our mission hasn’t changed. I’ve just woken up.”

The pilot called out a warning for entry into Fold Space and Alana gave a sigh of relief. They had gotten away. At least for the moment.

Kermadec Island
Macaulay
Disputed Zone

In his room, Viker toyed with the doll in his arms. He had made it himself. His act of nonchalance was only that. This mutinous behaviour on Alana’s part was a betrayal which could not allow to pass. There were things he would have let go in the past, not now. Each day he carried the burden of power stole away a little of his remaining humanity. Marius had received a virulent present from Shan which had warped his mind. The remnants of Marius sat within Viker, a disease which slowly ate its way through his subconscious. Soon, there would be little left of the young man, in its place an old and pestilent evil.

Giggling insanely, he twisted the last of the doll together, feathers from his own wings giving his creation the semblance of one of his followers. Gently he blew life into the doll, waiting until it quickened into consciousness before he snapped its neck and cursed his ex-followers. Energy burst forth from between his hands and reached out for the yacht, just as it entered Fold Space.

El Juego - Sudden Dearth Book IV Chp1

2011-05-27T01:59:00.000-07:00

Chapter One

Red Light District, Blast-Off City,
Luther

“Butt?” cackled the man, his obviously drunken cronies providing him with a little more than false courage, “You’re kidding me?”

Cornelius Butt stared up at the large warrior, whose strange attire clashed with the more established clothing of the Forked Tongue’s usual clientele. The wit’s shirt and trousers were broken with a colourful design, of a square, multi-hued pattern. Similarly dyed cloth hung from the man’s right wrist and the basket-hilt of a sword, jutted out from behind his shoulder. His hairstyle left much, in the small bloodshot eyes of Butt, to be desired; almost pig-tails had gone out of style after the last Crusade.

Mind you, truth be told, Butt was no beauty contestant. Once described as vertically challenged, well briefly anyway, he sported a bright-red mohican and wore a crossed leather belt over a wide and hairy chest. His bare skin was covered in tattoos, each ‘tatt’, representing a successful mission, was garishly drawn and rendered in what looked like the distinctive hand of a drunken Tauran. On many occasion, Cornelius had been heard to say that his skin covering was a statement; art for deaf listeners.

Leather chaps covered his short, bowed legs and, at least, a silver codpiece protected not only his dignity, but that of the rest of the patrons of the salubrious bar. On the table in front of him was his multi-spiked helmet, which he now carefully placed onto his mis-shapen head. It had started with one spike and had belonged to a Perussian soldier. Butt had won the helmet in a game of Chicken in front of an armoured tank. In fact, the helmet was pretty much all that remained of that drunken challenge. It was well-loved now, polished and cared for, and he had added a number of other protrusions over the years.

As he stood, the others laughed and he heard another time-worn joke, but Cornelius was now in his routine. He checked that his two combat knives, Dunch and Bingle, were in place and that he had not lost ‘Aunty Lil’. With a less than subtle adjustment, he made sure his codpiece was not set to pinch him and grinned at the four.

“Ready?” he asked quietly, and, as they held their sides in uproarious laughter, he struck.

Leaping onto his recently vacated stool, the table top and then head-first at his antagonist, his call of “Luv Ya!” seemed rather out of place, as his spiked helmet slammed into the now non-grinning warrior.

“Oooh!” came the chorus from the bar’s patrons, “Cornelius’ Kiss!”

Butt did not stop. The helmet was left where it stuck, his would-be antagonist bleeding from his fatal cranial injuries. Using his momentum he bounced backwards, drawing Dunch and Bingle in a fluid motion, as he performed a flip in the air. The blades struck, one slitting a throat and the other disembowelling for effect.

“Aaah!” called his fans, as he dropped the knife and drew Aunty Lil. Gripping the wooden handles, around which the length of rusty wire was looped, Butt scrunched down, avoiding the swipe of a large sword and slid under the table, appearing on its other side and once more using it as a step to greater things.

His leap carried him across and onto the third warrior’s back, the wire whipping around the man’s throat and slicing quickly through non-resistant skin.

“What?” whispered Cornelius into the warrior’s ear, “Speechless?”

With a final twist of his hands, he discarded the garrotte and stood waiting for the fourth and final man. “For the egg!” the man screamed as his large blade whirled around him, then he struck.

“Check out these eggs...” murmured Butt, thrusting his pelvis forward and activating the laser derringer built into his codpiece. The blast ripped into the final warrior’s stomach, bundling him backwards to crash helplessly onto the table.

“B-u-u-r-t!” cried his audience, “Burt has spoken!”

“Good boy!” crooned Butt, as he man-handled Burt, his long time friend back into the disguising codpiece and looked to retrieve his weapons. In front of him, the strangely-clad warrior gasped for air, and drew a piece of something from his belt, waving it in Butt’s direction, before groaning and sliding unceremoniously off the wooden slab, to the floor.

Cornelius looked wonderingly at the slip of paper, a Starship ticket for two, a suite, all expenses-paid, First Class! His prayers had been answered! With a grin, he signalled the barkeep for another round and looked for Gruk; he felt the need for a new tattoo.

Blast-Off City Spaceport,
Luther

The spaceport was a disappointment, as spaceports go. Luther had never been renowned for its fantastic natural beauty, history or even its scintillating nightlife. It was a poor, semi-agricultural world, with only one really major city to speak of. Butt lived in the less than salubrious district which adjoined the docks and warehouses surrounding the only real escape off-planet. Although he had thoroughly enjoyed his little altercation in the Forked Tongue, those men had looked altogether too serious for him. It was rather fortuitous that they had all died a messy death and that he now had his golden ticket.

Little time had been wasted in collecting his possessions, in fact the majority of the time he carried them with him, or on him as the case may be. His only concession to decency had been the long coat he had stolen off Gruk. Its length was of course relative, the giant Tauran thought of it more as a short dress jacket, but for Cornelius it was an all-encompassing sack with style. A rough woollen blanket, tied with rope and slung over his back hid his helmet and one or two other precious things. It was really no surprise that the Security details at the main entrance were less than willing to believe his story. The ticket, however, was genuine and carried no distinguishing name stencilled into its gaudy goldness.

People who could afford to travel First Class did so because they were very rich, secretive or criminals. Usually it was a combination of the three things and the Guards simply turned a blind eye, the moment Cornelius waved his special piece of paper in front of them. His trip through the liner’s brightly-lit corridors earned him a number of curious looks, but the ticket in his hand forestalled all questions. He was led to his suite by a rather obsequious servant, whose outstretched hand he ignored as he closed the suite’s door.

Dropping his simple sack onto the floor, swiftly followed by the now unbuttoned overcoat, Butt stood and stared. Never in his short and eventful life had he ever imagined that he would experience this level of luxury. With a grin he raced across the room, vaulted over a chair, used a sofa to give him momentum and landed onto the huge bed which dominated the centre of the room. Arms outstretched he lay there, looking at himself in the mirrored ceiling and waiting for the expected knock, signalling that he had been discovered.

Rising from the enfolding comfort of the bed, he swaggered across to the drink’s cabinet, poured himself a huge brandy, took an enormous swig, belched and scratched himself. This, he thought, is the life, and started to down the rest of the glass.

“Well,” came an unexpected voice in a low, entrancing contralto, “You’re nothing like what I expected, are you?”

An explosion of brandy signalled Butt’s complete surprise, astonishment turning to action as his hand swiftly dropped to his belt, drawing one of his wicked combat knives. Spinning on the spot, he saw the owner of the voice, draped in a luxurious bath towel, hair still wet and slicked back. There really was nowhere for her to hide any weapons, and open-mouthed, Cornelius drank in her beauty.

“Interesting attire” she purred, allowing the towel to slide to the floor, “Shall we get started?”

The now empty glass clunked to the floor as Cornelius raced to undo his clothing, his unknown guest sidling up to him, in a particularly sensual fashion. Her hands teased at the bright red spikes of hair which made up his Mohican, her long fingers caressing his cheeks and tweaking at his ears. Before he realised what was happening she kissed him, and Cornelius was completely overwhelmed by the sensation. As he struggled to hold her, his pleasure abruptly turned to pain as she bit his bottom lip. Not the playful nip of a lover, but the rending tear of an attacker. With a roar of pain he felt his flesh rip and she danced backwards, a stream of blood pouring down her chin, his blood.

“Not happy,” he mumbled, sucking at the ruin of his mouth, “and that just won’t do.”

Slowly he withdrew his knives, an evil and somewhat lop-sided grin splitting his face, “Let’s start again shall we?” he asked, turning the blades so that their serrated edges faced outwards.

“Why not?” she agreed, jumping forwards, her flashing limbs distracting him again, so much that he almost missed the click of metal on metal from behind him. Instinctively he ducked, a whistling ball of spikes passing through the space previously occupied by his head. This was starting to be fun, real fun.

Butt did as usual, the unexpected; somersaulting forwards, his legs flicked towards the woman’s face, but as soon as his feet jarred against the floor, he leapt backwards, blades outstretched. There was the satisfying feel of yielding flesh and an accompanying cacophony of curses. Not waiting to see the real extent of the damage caused, he twisted the knives free, quickly turning to the front once more.

Even though his body still reacted to the naked beauty of the woman before him, Cornelius’ piggy eyes were filled with anger, not lust. He shuffled towards her, leaning forward and inviting the kick, she would not be able to resist delivering. As the spinning kick slashed through the air, he raised his crossed blades, presenting a nasty welcome for the bare leg. A crunching collision and a high-pitched scream announced the impact, his assailant dropping to the ground in an ungracious heap. Her moaning and the whimpering of the man behind Butt, were little distraction as he moved once more to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a fresh drink.

“Now,” he asked, raising his drink in a mocking toast to the pair, “where were we?”

There was no intelligible answer, but this did not distract Cornelius as he picked up one of his knives from next to his drink, wiped it on the dropped towel and sauntered forwards.

“Oh, yes,” he said, smiling in remembrance, “Shall we get started?”

*

The Ship’s Officer knocked on the door to the suite, with some reservation. A call had been received, with a rather strange message, given casually, with an inexplicable nonchalance. It was still hard to believe that on this ship, there was such criminal activity.

As the door opened, the officer gazed inwards seeing no-one. A polite cough brought his attention closer to the floor, where he saw the apparition that was Butt.

“Good evening, sir”, said the ship’s representative, in a cultured voice, “It seems you have had a little trouble?”

Butt’s grin, which displayed his uneven teeth, was not his best feature, nor was the alcoholic gust which played against the officer’s face. “No trouble, “slurred the unusual little man, “more of a misunderstanding.”

He waved the officer and his men past, stumbling slightly and grasping at the back of a uniform coat to support himself.

“Misunderstanding...see...” chortled Cornelius, indicating the crumpled and bloody form in the middle of the lounge floor. “Some people can’t take their liquor,” he commented sadly, making his way in as much of a straight line as he could towards the large double bed, visible to all in the lounge.

Joint gasps greeted him, Butt turning to smile knowingly at the men, as he plumped himself on the edge of the bed. Behind him, with one roughly-bandaged and still bleeding leg raised high into the air and both hands tied to the headboard was his other guest. A towel had been tossed across her, but did little to hide her more than obvious attractions.

Dismayed, the officer turned to face Butt, who merely belched, said “Frisky!” and fell off the end of the bed in a heap, snoring loudly.

*

Pain hammered through Butt’s head, the consequence of his drinking and the less than gentle treatment he had received from the ship’s crew. It appeared that his unwelcome guests had been important people and well known by the Captain. That had been his first mistake, emptying the less than pleasant contents of his stomach over the owner of the vessel had been his second, and making rather unsavoury comments about the man’s parentage had been the third and final one.

Cornelius squinted out through the bars of the cell they had thrown him into and grinned sardonically. He should have known that his luck could never have held, and perhaps the means by which he had earned his ticket and then dispensed his own form of justice had not really helped. It seemed that the men from the Forked Tongue had been on some sort of mission and he had rather screwed it all up.

The clink of metal against metal and the low murmur of voices signalled the return of his gaolers. Well there was one positive, he was not quite alone; they had left Burt in his own little cell, and that was always an advantage.

*

Jenna Macmaan was in pain, physical and mental and all the fault of the horrid little man, who winked at her through the bars of his cell. They had already removed her sidearm, well both of them actually; the one she had carried in open sight and the other one which she had withdrawn from beneath her skirts, when Butt had waved at her. She sat in a contra-grav chair, her damaged limb held in an immobilising cast, straight out in front of her. By her side, stood two of her Clan, who were also finding it hard to restrain themselves.

“Where is it?” she spat, her question delivered in a corrosively, spiteful voice.

Cornelius shook his head, absent-mindedly scratching his crotch before moving to place his face against the bars. “Absolutely no idea what you are talking about,” he replied dismissively.

“The Egg!” screeched Jenna, scrabbling at the belt of her nearest companion for his pistol. Batting her hand aside, the man moved forward, his dress mirroring in every sense those of the cold bodies now lying in the Forked Tongue. One hand flashed out, grasping Butt by the throat and raising him off the floor.

As he saw Cornelius’ face change colour, he turned and nodded to the ship’s officer who stood to the rear, “You can open it now, my brother and I will take this from here,” then as the man began to protest, “Just do it!”

Quickly the door was opened and a grinning Jenna, licked her lips in anticipation of the world of hurt about to visit her ugly tormentor.

With his facial colour now a lovely shade of purple and his tongue protruding from his mouth, Cornelius was not really enjoying himself. The pounding pain had receded, only to be replaced by other more immediate agonies. To say that he was annoyed, was a slight understatement and as his new friend changed hands, in order to haul Butt to the opening, Cornelius demonstrated his ire.

Using his slight sideways movement, Cornelius stabbed the toe of his right foot into the softly yielding groin in front of him. With a yelp, the hold on his throat was released and he fell to the floor. Not waiting for any form of relief, he slammed his head upwards, his skull crashing into the descending jaw above him. There was a crack of breaking bone, a spout of blood and the wet feel of flesh bouncing off the top of his head. Glancing down he saw the remains of a tongue, flapping on the floor.

Hopping a half-step backwards, he swung his lead foot, toes turned up so that the ball of his foot impacted on the now squealing man’s forehead. Cornelius felt the man’s flesh give, saw his eyes roll backwards and pushed him to one side.

His brother had drawn his sword and was even now pulling his pistol clear, “You’ll die for that!” he screamed, aiming his weapon directly at Cornelius’ face.

“Not today!” stated Butt, thrusting his pelvis forward and clenching his buttocks as Burt shot out. A spatter of light, a scream of pain and then there were only two left; a ship’s officer whose hands were held high as he backed from the room and Jenna Macmaan, whose cursing had reached new heights.

Cornelius let her continue for a short while, he was all for educational exchange, but when she started to repeat some of the better curses, he decided it was time to move on.

“I get the strangest feeling that we’ve been here before,” he said conversationally as he leaned on her injured leg, even his weight causing the contra-gravity chair to dip. Picking up the fallen man’s sword, he tapped companionably on her protective cast, “I think it’s time for us to get better acquainted...”

A long drawn out scream caused the running officer to increase his speed, and he instantly decided that a personal report to the Captain was much better than stopping to use a communicator and then receiving new orders, infinitely better.

Kindle Freebie - is it worth it?

2011-05-23T13:39:00.000-07:00

The short answer is yes. Two weeks in and between the UK and US, A Guiding Light has ben downloaded over 3000 times. Yes, I know that a fair proportion of downloads were done in a frantic few days as people thought that Amazon would repeat previous promotions and pull the free books after a week or so. Not happened yet.

After the first rush, there has been a steady stream of new interest, with the UK doubling the first week's numbers in week two. Some people must like AGL, as they have bought Sudden Dearth and A Leap Of faith too. Not in any way to the same level - yet. And that is where you get my definite yes on the worth of this promotion. 3000 new people have a copy of my book; it may already be read, deleted, discarded or even cherished, but there is the fact that Amazon have given me phenomenal exposure in comparison to my other efforts.

Long may it continue in the SF and Horror Top 20 - I just hope they discount the Wildwose too, then we'd be moving!

FREE Fame and Fortune

2011-05-13T10:16:00.000-07:00

It's been a funny couple of days. I was one of the fortunates who received an eMail from Kindle Direct Publishing (Amazon by any other name) telling me that they were price-matching a free promotion on another Distribution Channel. Okay, A Guiding Light had been free, but it was a while back. Nevertheless, I accepted the slap on the hand and waited to see what happened...and now I realise why the big pubishers normally get the discounted freebies. 1000+ DOWNLOADS IN 24 HOURS!

TINSTAAFL I know, but ream me with a pointy stick, 1000 in a day feels good. Sure Amazon have a plan (there were about 200 of us blessed by this offer)and I haven't figured out what it is yet, but I'm just enjoying watching AGL hit the Top 20 in both SF and Horror in the US AND the UK.

Will there be associated sales? I bloody well hope so, but we'll just have to wait and see...enjoy it whilst you can, I say

El Juego - The Game Sudden Dearth Book IV

2011-05-04T04:35:00.000-07:00

I think that it's about time we publish a little bit of the forthcoming Book IV. Youve all been patient...

PROLOGUE

Deep Space
Graveyard Of Ships
Unknown Location

Debris; a fallow field of broken dreams and evil thoughts. Viker studied what remained of his fleet and ignored the tears which rolled down his face. Brilliant feathers ruffled, an involuntary reflex half way between loss and rage. As each of the data streams blipped their end, his eyes grew colder, darker. He had lost many of his people here, to the demon-blessed construct. They had fought well, yet died too easily as beams of stupendous energy melted their hopes and dreams.

“Were we too late?” asked Johns, moving to stand next to his Lord, his Battle Amour shining with its newness.

“We left them here. It was over almost as soon as it began.”

“You were not to blame...”

“Ah, but I was,” disagreed Viker, “too eager in my new found power, but that has changed. What success have our people had?”

“Good, My Lord,” replied Johns, “although truth be told, it’s not a hard trail to follow.”

“Explain...”

“Distress signals, radiation signatures and the ever-present debris make a unique trail of bread crumbs,” said Johns.

“Good. Order the fleet to jump with us. We will follow and pick up the pieces. I have no doubt we will find allies on our travel.”

“If,” muttered Johns, “the b*****d left anything alive...”

“It did,” said Viker, “I can taste their hate and thirst for revenge. We can use that.”

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

Beelzebub squirmed within the confines of his throne; Asmode’s old accommodation was not to his taste, either in decoration or dimension. It had taken time to make his way here, many feeds were required to fuel his still bloated body. Followers had given their existence to ensure his survival and now he gathered them around him; deformed and mis-shapen, they were the residues of Asmode’s experiments. He was not concerned over their lack of beauty. What frustrated his ambition was their inability to provide him with an exit from this accursed planet. Their only service was in his alimentation.

“My Lord,” the wheezing voice already annoyed the demon and the face in front of him, did little to ameliorate the situation, “we have birthed more of our brothers and have made a discovery.”

“What?”

“There is a ship...”

“Where?”

“...approaching the planet. We have recognised the signs.”

For the first time in a long while, Beelzebub smiled. This could be his chance.

“Our people must hide, until we know the identity of our visitors. We must be prepared to fight if necessary.”

His minion bowed and left, leaving the demon alone to think, and scheme.

Deep Space
Arshavin’s Construct

Life was good. The promise of death and destruction that the demon foresaw had been fulfilled. World after world had been scraped raw; beings stripped of love and existence. He had sucked them dry, using them as fuel in his quest. Followers had begun to drift after him, their slow progress mirroring his own. They meant nothing to him, but could prove useful. He had even allowed a small contingent to land and occupy carefully constructed outbuildings. A bloody altar adorned the central temple and it pleased him to let them hold false hope of deliverance. Everything in its own time. He had captured the trail of his enemies and was now almost ready for them. One more world...just one more...

Kermadec Island
Macaulay
Disputed Zone

An Angel had come to earth and the people fell to their knees in adoration. He floated softly amidst a curtain of light, voices thrummed in counterpoint, their harshness only adding to the purity of their new God.

Dark shapes, hard lined and with rigid wings soared into the Central Plaza, moving the new faithful aside with the backwash of their Holy Fire. Johns grinned as the populace sprinted for cover, but he and his men were only the vanguard to their Lord. It was time. He flipped free a flare and fired it skyward, the red, yellow and gold flames blossoming into a fountain of colour and from within which sailed Viker. With an imperious back beat of his wings he settled to the tiled area at the centre of the Plaza.

“My Children,” his voice boomed out, “come to me...and be saved”

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

The city had been raised to the ground yet the tunnels and laboratories remained, hidden below a nightmarish landscape. A pathetic excuse for a spaceship rattled to earth, its squabbling crew undecided about the salvage they would find. Their brothers above merely awaited the all-clear before they would begin to cleanse the area, ready for recovery of any valuables. Their Lord had been very clear. They had only two hours before he himself would purify this world, turning it into yet another of his burnt offerings.

Beelzebub watched them, a cruel smile on his face.

“Now,” he said, as the landing ramp crashed to the ground and a rag-tag army poured forth, “keep the prettier ones for my pleasure.”

Barely enough time passed for the first casualties to be reported when the Demon knew he had made a potentially fatal mistake. A beam of plasma burned its way through the atmosphere and incinerated friend and foe alike.

“Hello, Brother,” the voice smashed into his mind, tearing his defences apart, “I knew that something good would come of this...”

FREE Stories in APRIL

2011-04-06T10:05:00.000-07:00

For those of you interested in reading any of my short stories, you will find them FREE on Smashwords for the rest of this month. You can find the page by clicking on the links below or in my signature.

None of the completed SD books are now free as the promotional period is over, as I get close to finishing Book IV.

Here's a summary of the shorts you can read over on Smashwords:

The Wildwose
www.smashwords.com/books/view/32297

Childhood nightmares, myths and tales abound throughout the Urionverse. No-one believes them, but there is one place where fable and reality walk hand-in-hand. The Church Guard have come to Wose IV with all their arrogance, ego and bigotry. They have been warned...

A Knight's Charge
www.smashwords.com/books/view/50619

When your family has a history which you’d rather forget, there’s an invading force of Taurans trying to remodel your planet and some evil monster just won’t leave you alone; you know it’s not your day. Vincent Kombel knew that he had a lot to pay for; being of Old Blood meant much on New Sevilla, just for Vincent it meant a little bit more...

The Gift
www.smashwords.com/books/view/38934

All, Human and Tauran alike, look forward to the generosity of their Masters. In the Urionverse, you need to be careful what you wish for... This Anthology brings together four separate short stories. Each is set within the confines of The Urionverse, and tells a cautionary tale for the unwary.

Enjoy

A Leap Of Faith (Sudden Dearth Book III) Now Available

2011-03-17T04:10:00.000-07:00

Yep, you guessed it, A Leap Of Faith, the Third book in the Sudden Dearth series is now available on Smashwords and will soon be available on all eBook retailers.

This one took less time to edit than the others, so that must mean I'm getting better at it - hope so anyway. The other books seem to be doing well and the offer of SDII being FREE for a month has seen a lot of downloads. Hope you guys are passing on how much you enjoyed it to your friends!

I am torn now between SDIV and my horror story 26-S which needs to be seen by the public. It is a change of direction for me and something I really enjoyed doing.

Anyway, keep up with those downloads and watch this space...

A Leap Of Faith - Chapter Six

2011-03-08T11:52:00.000-08:00

Planet Goldburn
3rd Eclisiarch Protectorate

Chary was unconcerned at the losses. They remained within manageable parameters. It was to be expected that the Churchmen would finally learn how to fight back. None of her seasoned troops had been lost, however the Harvest was risky and not all of the new troops would be recovered. This was planned for and she sighed, staring at the screen in front of her, as data scrolled rapidly upwards.

This Seeding was a first, the culmination of intense experiments which would generate many others. The principle was easy, her ships had sneaked into high orbit unnoticed and delivered the virus. Its effectiveness was proven and the humans had reacted as expected. Depending on their physiology they had mutated or had accepted the viral string. These mutations were needed in order to provide the final catalyst. The atmosphere was saturated with the virus and the arrival of the Church troops had finished the reaction.

Assimilation of the genetic code which came from the mutated stock opened the new population to a higher possibility. Once battle was joined, the adrenalin-driven survival instinct was enhanced; battle-madness was the conduit to her Master. Then the Harvest was begun.

Her troops needed honing, yet they would be joined by more and more of their fellows as they gave in to the disease’s attack. Eventually her ranks would swell and the delightful part was the possibility that the CHurch fools would send in more troops, unwittingly adding to her burgeoning army.

The Master would be pleased. He had fed on the souls of those few who had resisted the mutation. These unknowns could not be left alive and using them to open the rift was a delicious irony. Even they had served.

Another glance at the screen showed her the first transports’ arrival was imminent. Her cape whirled out as she span, her little dance of anticipation witnessed by none but herself. Grinning, she picked up a wicked spiked baton and strode towards the field prepared to welcome her new recruits.

*

“What’s going on!”

The General was incandescent in anger. Reports spoke of the decimation of his Regiment to an unknown enemy. Someone had not done their job and he had walked unknowingly into an enormous trap.

“Sir?” his Exec asked.

“Never mind. Contact the ships. We need to bring down the second regiment and I want fighter cover.”

His subordinate nodded and spoke to the communications operator. Orders were relayed to the ships in orbit above the planet and more soldiers were prepared to quash the threat. The General was playing directly into Chary’s hands.

“Adams, Adams!”

The General turned, impatient in his anger, even his Exec was losing it. He gasped at the sight of the blood puddling the floor around the communications station and tried to pull his pistol free as his Exec inched forwards, arms extended and blood covering his face. And the eyes …the eyes!

*

The small transport settled to earth, the door slapping the ground as it crashed downwards. Chary waited, flanked by a squad of her personal guard, tapping the baton impatiently against her thigh. These were the first to arrive and she knew the primary contact would be important.

They shuffled down the ramp, brows beetled and eyes aflame. There was little in the way of recognition and she knew that a firm hand would be needed.

“Line up!”

The group started, but when the command was repeated their training kicked in. They formed a ragged line, growling and snapping at each other. Their clothes were torn and bloodied and their minds regressed to the most primeval of urges.

“Ate-e-n shun!”

Bodies straightened and Chary smiled. Rage permeated their very existence and she needed to pierce the veil clouding their minds. She reached the front rank and her aides pushed and shouted the troops into a semblance of parade ground decorum.

“Name!”

The man looked at her, struggling with his identity and responded.

“Alcaraz, Ma’am. Trooper First Class. Where am I?”

The baton whistled viciously and struck him across the face. She saw the answering fire and struck again. His hand flashed upwards, blocking the flight of the thin stick and he growled, taking one step forwards, his hand raised in response. Instantly her guards attacked, rifle butts slamming into the unfortunate man. It took many blows to render him unconscious and Chary began to fear. This one’s reaction was elemental, powerful and not what she had expected.

“Take him away!”

She was instantly obeyed, the flaccid body was dragged from the field and she turned to face the others.

“Anyone else?”

There was no reply and she nodded in satisfaction. Trooper Alcaraz would be dealt with separately, she needed to understand what had happened, but for now she had other concerns.

“Welcome to your worst nightmare,” she began, “we have a job for you …”

*

This time when he woke, he was alone. Power surged through his veins and he reveled in the feeling. Something had happened to him and he spat, clearing his mouth. Slowly he remembered his name, who he was and what had happened. Toni Alcaraz promised that there would be a reckoning and mentally began his list. First the evil-looking women, then his Officers and ultimately the Prelate himself. They would all pay.

He knew he had been changed, was puzzled as to why he had been attacked but certain of his ability in overcoming his enemies. Alcaraz squatted in one corner of his cell and began to plan. Animal cunning joined with his higher faculties and once convinced, he waited.

*

Troops were shuttled to the planet, fighters roared over head and little by little the men changed. It started with one fighter opening fire on his Wingman, then became a pitched battle, shuttles falling to earth in flames. Soldiers battled free and took up positions to find themselves under attack from the already entrenched first regiment.

Soon they were killing each other, the weak weeded out by the strong. The call came and entire platoons formed up and marched away, leaving their fellows suffering behind them. Within one day the second regiment was decimated and the survivors marching to a different tune. In her Command Centre Chary giggled and in his cell, Toni Alcaraz made plans.

*

A black nail scratched at the tenuous fabric of the rift, the shimmering window drawing him forward. Sparks arced between the portal and the Master, tickling his extended digit. He chuckled, half in anticipation and half frustration. The Harvest was underway, successful to all intents and purposes. One world stolen from beneath the shriveled nose of the Prelate and his minions. It was a good beginning and yet he was dissatisfied – the barrier still held.

Sacrifices meant to free him had brought him close, one small step from dominion but it was still too far. He growled, his wings flexing automatically. The head of his giant axe trailed along the floor, screeching as it scraped behind him. With his free hand he tugged at his horns, staring once more at his way out.

In a wave of fury he smashed his weapon down on the remains of his altar, kicking stone shards in his petulance. Chary needed to bring him one more, a human resistant to the virulent strain of his creation. She had said there were no more, yet he could feel them. Not many, though more than enough.

*

Buildings crumbled beneath the battling soldiers as round after explosive round tore the stone and metalwork apart. A wave of howling red-eyed maniacs assaulted Sargeant Grimm’s position, but they held. He was a veteran, steeped in the rules and forms of war. When the others began to change, to fall as they exited the troop carrier, Grimm had ordered his platoon to don their breathers. They had borrowed an abandoned APC and raced towards the co-ordinates he had been given. In the Command tent he expected a General and orders but they had found nothing but carnage. Now they were on their own.

Grimm was not overly worried, he had faith that there would be others, he just had to find them. In the meantime he had to keep his men alive.

“Try it again.”

“But Sarge. There’s nothing.”

“Don’t argue with me, son. Someone will be listening. If not locally, on the ship. If nothing else we need to get some intel upstairs. They’ll know what to do.”

The comms-operator relaxed and bent to his task. If the Grimm said he’d be heard, then that was what would happen. He was never wrong.

Unfortunately for the ground troops, returning shuttle pilots had brought the virus back on board every ship. Each of the vessels was mirroring the awful scenario dirt-side. At least there were air-tight doors and the vacuum of space, if all else failed. Deep within the bowels of the main Assault Carrier a last stand was being made and a lone operator transmitted a desperate plea for help. Yet another mistake

Marketing and Stuff

2011-03-03T09:33:00.000-08:00

Whilst I wait for my Smashwords Distribution Channel numbers, I thought that I would reflect on the progress so far. Self Publishing is an adventure, and thankfully there are a number of people willing to share their experiences (both good and bad) on forums. Places as diverse as Kindleboards, Authonomy, IndieSpot, Facebook, LinkedIn and many more.

I've met fellow bloggers, authors and readers, all willing to comment, crit and advise. With four bools on Smashwords, and another soon to be uploaded, I can report that over 500 copies have already been sold. An amazing number for me and I am looking forward to see how February has been elsewhere. kindle is still a market I haven't touched, so plenty more to aim for.

Thanks to all who have downloaded, commented, helped, laughed and taken part. I look forward to continuing the journey with you...

A Leap Of Faith - Chapter Five

2011-02-27T11:54:00.000-08:00

Planet Goldburn
3rd Eclisiarch Protectorate

Soldiers filed silently between the eerie remains of the city. They had been dropped at first light, their Regiment tasked with investigating in detail a disturbing report. The city appeared empty, devoid of any human life. Papers tumbled aimlessly in the wind, calls echoed without answer and now the men and women gripped their weapons tightly, more in fear than readiness. A shutter banged and a volley of laser fire followed. Officers called their men to order and the anxious procession continued.

“Halt!”

Trooper Toni Alcaraz spat the dust from his mouth, grinned at his companions and followed the non-com’s hand signals. Men and women took up defensive positions, rifles scanned the surrounding area and they waited. There was nothing. The square in which they had stopped, the blank windows of buildings and the darkened alleys stared back at them.

“Come on...”

Alcaraz mouthed his words silently, his vigilance high as around him his fellows began to relax. A Captain approached, spoke with their Corporal and people began to relax. Not so Alcaraz, there was something ....
Boiling plasma erupted from a nearby doorway, cooking the Captain into cinders. It was followed by the crump of grenades, the bark of high-explosive rounds and the screams of dying men.

“Frak!” Toni cursed, as he tracked a flitting shape. Two quick squeezes of his trigger and he was rewarded with the disappearance of movement. He could not be sure he had hit his target, but this did not dissuade him. All around there were the cries and moans of injured soldiers. His appeared the only rifle spitting venom towards the enemy and a quick glance confirmed his worst fears. The platoon had been decimated.

Again he saw something and fired, more out of reaction than intent and scuttled backwards under cover. His leg thumped into flesh and was answered by a groan. He could see a free hand which he grabbed, dragging the unfortunate with him. They took cover behind some burning wreckage and he squatted next to his erstwhile colleague. It was the Corporal. One side of his body had been melted away and Toni gagged. His heroics had been useless. She was dead, the groaning only the air trapped in her lungs escaping.

More dark shapes snapped his head back and he unbuckled the pistol from the Corporal’s waist. It seemed as though he was definitely on his own. He flipped the body over and a quick search of the dead woman’s backpack revealed a couple of fragmentation grenades. These he hung from his combat harness and turned to the front.

What he saw shocked him. Strange, winged creatures skulked in the shadows. They hugged the protection of the darkness, using the scant cover religiously. Alcaraz stifled a gasp when he saw they faces; taut yellow skin clung to their skulls, it looked as though it had been added as an afterthought. Long teeth filled their grinning mouths and clod eyes surveyed their kill. He took careful aim at the first to reach the human corpses, held his breath and then released it slowly. His shot was instinctive, the brilliant beam searing through the hideous visage and the monster collapsed to the ground. Now for the first time he heard new noise, a weird whooping call which attracted all attention to him. En masse they came and Toni rose from his shelter, rifle discarded and with a grenade in each hand.

“Come to Poppa.” he said, as he casually primed and threw.

Blood and brains, bones and gore. Toni laughed manically as he was showered with the detritus of the explosion. A torn wing whistled above him as it span away. He unslung his rifle and on semi-automatic cut his foes in half. That they would kill him never entered his mind, he was submerged in the joy of battle. Bolts whizzed by him, exploding brickwork, metal and glass. Alcaraz did not care.

Step by step he advanced, dropping charges, reloading and killing in numb fury. When there were none in front of him, he span left and continued. It was then shells started to drop, he though, was oblivious. His rifle clicked empty and he drew his pistol, the rifle tossed aside. The roar of engines was lost on him, shouts of command and volleys of laser fire followed. He dodged a flailing arm, swayed and then clubbed the stock of his now empty pistol down onto an alien head. A hand grasped his arm and he whirled.

“Whoa, Trooper!”

Reality returned with a bang as a meaty hand slapped across his face. The red mist of battle evaporated and Toni saw the Officer in front of him with his flanking troopers.

“Sir! Sorry, Sir!”

The man grinned and glanced around at the carnage wrought by this single man.

“Been busy, haven’t we?”

“Sir?”

Toni too gazed silently at the shattered bodies, both alien and human. Reaction set in and he began to shake. The hand on his shoulder felt heavy and unwelcome. Alcaraz had survived but could not lose the resentment which flooded his senses. They had been sent in here, their task obviously to flush out whatever was waiting for them and the grinning Inspector represented the worst of the Command structure. A low growl started deep in Alcaraz’s throat and his fists clenched. Fear crossed the dark-coated figure in front of him as Toni took a step forward. Something crashed against the back of his skull and he crumpled to his knees, before falling headlong into the dirt.

“Another one,” grumbled the Inspector, “take him to the Staging Post with the others. There’s a smell of demon about this one.”

The Inspector sniffed and then studied the corpses. This scene had been played out in other areas of the city, men and women turning into mad beasts as they slaughtered. High Command had been right about this place and it would be best if the rest of the troops knew nothing more than the heroics of their comrades. A quick execution should take care of everything, but not here in front of the cheering Guards. No, it would be done quietly when they had gathered them all together.

High upon one of the buildings nearby, wreathed in shadows, a miniscule figure watched the scene being played out. A communicator was raised to thin lips and commands barked. The plan was working, the Seeding having its required effects. Soon they could begin the Harvest.

*

When Alcaraz woke, he found himself in a small dark cell. The smell was rich with sweat, vomit and fear. He rolled to one side and pushed with his hands. It took a little time, but at last he rose to his feet. Mumbled curses greeted him and he was bumped to one side, his shoulder finding the wall.

“Where am I?”

“Hell.” came the mumbled reply. A woman, the chevrons on her uniform identifying her was knelt next to him.

“What happened?”

“You were too efficient, like the rest of us. It doesn’t pay to stand out from the crowd. At least not in a coin we were willing to be paid.”

Alcaraz squinted, the woman Sargeant was small and lithe, yet the scar on her left cheek spoke of experience.

“I remember the firefight, then a frakking Inspector and … nothing.”

“Yeah, we did a lot of killing and were given a lovely reward too. We’re behind the front lines and waiting for judgement. It’ll be quick, final.”

“Why?” Toni was confused.

“Stop whining man. We’ve seen something, done something, screwed up somehow. Who cares?”

Toni cared. He remembered the aliens, their horrid faces and their blood. The Inspectorate were rigid in their ways, but this did not sit right. Whatever plan they were following, Toni did not agree. He was not prepared to wait for an arbitrary decision. Getting out of here was the priority.

His hands fumbled against the rough walls, eventually finding the bars of the cell. There was always one opportunity and Toni was determined to take it. He felt down into his boot top and found the handle of his hidden blade. A grunt of satisfaction escaped his lips and he hunched down, waiting.

Time passed slowly but he was patient. He was rewarded by the clink of metal against metal, as soldiers approached. Tense, coiled, he let himself relax. A buzz of energy filled his muscles, the knife how concealed in his hand, the blade tucked flush against his sleeve.

Voices snapped and the door was opened and they were herded out into the daylight. Alcaraz squinted as the bright light struck him and a surreptitious glance showed him the soldiers lined up, rifles at port as they waited for their orders. A pock-marked wall was their destination and Toni knew that they had been judged and found wanting.

“Frak this!” he cursed, exploding into action. His right hand lashed outwards, splitting the skin of one of his Guards. A swift kick to a knee was rewarded with the crunch of bone and he was free, a rifle in his hand. Pandemonium followed and he fired, determined that he would not be the only one to die today.

No-one heard the hum of the engines until it was too late. The fighters had risen slowly from their concealment, boosters kicking in with a roar. Plasma bolts announced their arrival to the struggling mass of soldiery and their indiscriminate fire followed. They screamed across the sky in run after run and laid down a curtain of fire. Alcaraz and the other prisoners had once more devolved into their murderous state and were oblivious to the unexpected aid.

Without conscious thought they were drawn together, those survivors of the first encounters with the enemy. Where rifles were unavailable, they used nature´s own weapons and their mad attacks sowed fear amongst the Guard around them. They did not flinch but pursued their violent attack until there was a partially cleared area around them. Toni heard the call, which started as a low buzzing which tugged and gnawed at him. Like a wild animal his head rose questing for the source and at last he saw the small craft settle to the ground nearby.

Fighters streaked past, carving a clear path for the vehicle. The buzzing became more insistent and marionette-like he lurched towards the opening door in its side. The others followed, ignoring the shouts of the Guard as they reformed and prepared to attack. Laser bolts struck some of Toni’s new companions but they ignored them and one-by-one walked crawled or dragged their way into the beckoning darkness of the craft’s entrance. With a clunk the metal cover fell into place, engines whined and they took to the air, the fighters forming a protective cordon all around.

*

Toni regained consciousness in the darkness once more, he could feel the movement beneath his feet and hear the whimpering of injured men. He remembered little but the all-consuming rage. His skin itched and burned and he had an almost irresistible urge to scream. He scratched at his arms, his face and his neck in monotonous repetition until he bled.

Bubbling through everything came his anger as he searched the darkness for more foes. It was then he saw the red lights begin to appear; small intense pin-pricks of brightness, evenly spaced. The others looked back and cowered until they too were overcome. None approached Toni, even when they changed. They could clearly see his face and the flames which crackled deep within his eyes.

FREE e-Book for One Month ONLY

2011-02-26T02:11:00.000-08:00

As the title says, SDII A Guiding Light is available FREE from Smashwords for the next month ONLY.

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43219

Enjoy...

A Guiding Light - Smashwords

2011-02-20T05:55:00.001-08:00

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/43219

Seven sources of power, demons, unknown heroes and an all-powerful religion clash in a titanic struggle.

Men have become beasts. Some by choice and others by an unknown design. A galaxy-spanning battle has begun and not all yet know their part.

The Fortress has been reduced to rubble, the Taurans swept aside and the snarling K'ran's head banner flies in secret pride. A strange signal is received, a vast Tauran Fleet assembled and Walters and his men must again stand against both religious intolerance and Dark Magic. An unknown power calls to them all in a deadly race against time.

Cover Art by Diggory Steele-Perkins.

Plasma Pistol or SRM's?

2011-02-16T06:13:00.001-08:00

Thank goodness I can write my frustrations away. Plots to stories can appear from within the mundane, the frustrating and even the earth-shatteringly annoying. We all experience new things every day. For example:

That televison show with the annoying person spinning the wheel and guessing some conundrum. You can throw something at them or...you can write The Dark Wheel...

The Dark Wheel

Shinzen City
Mai Ling
First Ecclesiarch Protectorate

“Roll up, roll up!"

The hawker reeled in his prey. It was his job, and his pleasure. There was always someone; the gullible, the brave and the foolhardy were all attracted to The Wheel. He saw them approach and was glad. A quick adjustment of his hat, a twirl of his cane and he was ready.

“Welcome to the Dark Wheel, a unique and life-changing experience..."

Adam DeVries half-heard the spiel, although the firm breast pressed against his shoulder drew more of his attention. This was their last night; tomorrow the transports would leave for the war-zone and these memories would remain with him, blur a little the horror and despair which awaited.

“Hey, Adam," Johnny Colso broke into his thoughts, “what about in here?"

Adam looked up, the garish neon sign drawing his attention. It was a crude representation of a wheel, held in place by a scantily-clad young woman. Strange sigils marked each of sixteen points on its edges and as he watched it span dizzily. What the...? He blinked, it was again only a sign.

“Yes Sir," wheedled the hawker, “why not make this a night to remember?"

The young woman on his arm squeezed closer and Adam assented; it was probably dark inside, and just maybe the evening could start early.

*

The two couples entered into the damp interior of the tent; three rows of chairs were placed parallel to, and slightly below a crude stage. On which stood the wheel itself; a shabby structure held its stained and flaking body. From the rear of the stage a woman entered; more naked than clothed as excess flesh poured from her tight costume.

“Ah, what do we have here?"

Her voice was low, sultry and in contrast to the seedy costume she wore. Adam felt a strange attraction and in response to the womanÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s allure, the girl at his side pressed closer.

“You!" a grimy finger stabbed towards Adam, “A likely looking boy. Would you care to spin The Wheel?"

He started to reply, but an imperious waggle of her digit, stalled him.

“Not so hasty, My Pretty, there are things you should know, before you answer. Sit, whilst I explain."

All of them obeyed her command and she rested one hand against the mechanism before speaking.

“The Dark Wheel comes to us through the mists of time. It is a powerful artefact whose very existence is an abomination. Each spin cuts reality with the screams of a thousand condemned souls. Those who failed its test, who faltered when faced with fear, were consumed by the evil which resides within. It can show you your heartÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s desire or torment you with your innermost demons. Do you still wish to continue? This will be your one and only opportunity to refuse..."

Johnny laughed, “At least we'll get our money's worth. You going first Adam, or shall I?"

“Whatever you like," Adam said, grinning in return.

“Okay," said Johnny, stepping onto the raised platform, “but please be gentle, it 's my first time."

The woman merely smiled and bowed him graciously forward, indicating where he should place his hand. With a heave, Johnny started the wheel spinning, the clacking of its spokes rapidly joining in a single note. Adam could not look away; the sigils blurred into one hypnotic line and a weird keening began.

“Can you hear them?" cackled the woman, “The souls, can you hear them?"

“A-d-aa-m!"

Johnny's cry faded into the background noise as Adam lost consciousness; each spin of the wheel pulled him in closer, ripping him screaming from his body...

You can read the rest of it on SW...if you dare

AGL - Chapter Two

2011-02-04T03:54:00.001-08:00

Argent III
Disputed Zone
Second Church Protectorate

The world of Argent III, sat innocuously in its usual place, revolving quietly around its particularly uneventful sun. Nothing ever happened here, in fact nothing had ever happened out of the ordinary as far as the inhabitants of the planet were concerned. That is, until this one fine morning, when war came slowly yet resolutely to the system.

Ships winked into real space, taking up their predetermined positions. Shuttles began to ferry Church troops to the planet’s surface, irrespective of the local Governor’s complaints. Regiment after regiment was deployed, and the Guardsmen began to dig themselves in.

Shortly after the final troop transport was once more safely in the arms of the fleet, the main body of vessels jumped once more. They had other worlds to find, other fortifications to build and time was running out.

*

Stiv Viker was among the first to make planet fall. Somehow Johns and his platoon had been adopted by the gruff Leftenant Krantu. They had been relieved of their more mundane duties and put through some special training. Little more had been said about the unusual treatment meted out to the Inspector, but truth be told, none of them were particularly upset about Ivanov’s predicament.

An APC roared past, spraying mud into the air and Stiv delicately wiped the front of his tunic. He, like many of his fellows, took an inordinate pride in his Regimental emblem. It instilled confidence; he always felt ready for anything when he was dressed in his uniform. Even with his body armour in place, he could feel where the snarling head sat over his heart, and was comforted.

He laughed uncontrollably as he saw Alana misjudge her step and fall backwards into a muddy puddle.

“Viker!” screamed Corporal Johns, “Don’t just stand there! Give her a hand!”

The thought of clapping appreciatively did briefly flit across his mind, but it was not advisable to display too much humour in front of the testy non-com.

With a wave of agreement, he trudged forward, better positioning his backpack to make sure he did not overbalance and join her there in the middle of the road.

*

“Him there,” said Krantu softly to Walters, “he’s the one.”

“Why him?” asked Walters enquiringly, not for a moment doubting the K’ran’s judgement, rather his question was out of curiosity.

“He’s different,” replied Krantu, even after all of this time and the modifications his body had undergone, he still found it hard to talk in long sentences.

Smiling to himself, Walters insisted, “How is he different?” he asked.

“Hard to say,” replied Krantu, “but trust me, he’s the one.”

Walters watched the young soldier struggling through the mud, his hand outstretched in order to help his companion. With a heave she dragged him down beside her and they both collapsed into helpless laughter. Perhaps he is the catalyst, thought Walters to himself, only time will tell.

His attention was drawn away from the two young soldiers, as his enhanced senses felt a disturbance in the ether approaching. Whatever it was, it wasn’t friendly.

Closing his eyes he reached out and felt the wrongness and with a snarl he turned to Krantu.

“They’re here already!” there was a snick of claws extending, as the K’ran grinned wolfishly.

“Good!” was his only answer, as he waited for further commands.

“Warn the men,” snapped Walters, his mind already calculating what they might have to do, “Ours that is!” he cautioned Krantu, “the others will just have to look after themselves!”

*

Something was going on, of that Stiv was sure. There was a new purpose in the older men, they seemed to bristle in excited anticipation. He could have sworn he had heard some of them growling to each other in low undertones, and their walk! They prowled now, like hunting beasts ready to be slipped from their leashes, hands flexing subconsciously, forgotten weapons slung on their backs.

Viker stared closely as the Colonel exited his Command Tent, Major James and Leftenant Krantu with him. A group of the men from his pinnace approached, their bodies encased in their strange power armour. They were huge men, fully as big as any of the Immortals, yet still wearing the characteristic snarling beast emblazoned on their shoulder guards.

One of them raised his visor and Stiv tried to get a better look. A rough hand jerked him away by the back of his tunic, spinning him around and there behind him was the ever present Johns.

“Stop gawking!” he hissed, “and get the rest of the platoon together. For some reason, the Leftenant has taken a personal interest in us and none of you are going to let me down!”

With a shove in the back, he was propelled rapidly across the road. Stiv risked one last glance at the group of officers and found himself staring into the unblinking green eyes of the Colonel. He felt pierced through by the Colonel’s gaze; it was as though he were being weighed on a very strict pair of scales. Smiling slightly, the Colonel turned away and Viker felt immensely disappointed, as though he had lost something and involuntarily he cried out.

Walters looked back briefly and an electrical charge seemed to pass between them, Viker feeling energised, invincible. The Colonel nodded and continued on his way, the others following meekly behind him.

The Galleon
Unknown Space

Arn rose from the Command chair and looked across at Berbatov, “Can you feel it?” he asked excitedly.

Berbatov nodded and swung a foot at a passing crewman who skipped easily out of the way. His hand reached down and touched his halberd where it lay propped against the wall. The shaft was reverberating slightly, as though in tune with some strange music.

“About time!” he grumbled bad-naturedly and then he grinned, “I was getting just a little bit bored with all this waiting. Why don’t you tell them?”

The shipboard communication system sprang into life, Arn speaking softly into the transmitter, “Our Lord calls us!”

His voice echoed around the Galleon and there came an answering howl of pure joy. Messages were passed across to the other ships and after a short wait, as one they winked out of real space in answer to the long awaited summons.

Geosynchronus Orbit
Argent III
Second Church Protectorate

Admiral Baynes had stayed behind with his cruiser and two destroyers, his orders to protect the best he could the troops on the planet below. Further sealed instructions had been given to him in private; if the threat was overwhelming he was make all speed to rejoin the fleet, the information of the enemy disposition was more important than the hundreds of thousands of lives below.

He had privately questioned these orders and had been curtly rebuffed, there would be no discussion allowed. So, it was with trepidation he received the reports of multiple vessel signatures. It looked as though a fleet were due and he would have to run. Perhaps he might get the chance to at least reduce the odds before he fled, although he would only do so if the risk to his ships were minimal.

It was in an awed silence he heard the details of the estimated number of enemy vessels dropping in real space and not waiting any longer, he ordered his ships away, leaving the troops below to their potentially terminal fate.

*

There was no escape for the Church ships, a vast fleet winked into existence all around them, effectively corralling Admiral Baynes and his men. His only option was to fight and take some of the enemy with him. He ordered gun batteries charged, missiles readied and fighter craft launched. In a tight formation his three vessels ploughed onwards, directly into the centre of the opposing forces.

On his command the ships fired into unison, their concentrated fire intended to punch its way through the vessels before them. Shields flared in opposition and counter missiles were launched.

He felt his cruiser reel under the power of his enemy’s attack, three times as many of them engaged him and from all sides. No time was given for him to communicate with his destroyers as their shields were torn apart and enemy fire sent them screaming to the Prelate’s Bosom.

Alone now, he continued to fight, data streamed in of batteries overheating, missile hits against enemy ships and more against them. Hull integrity had been breached on three separate levels and there was now no return for the fighters, the launch bays having been ripped into shreds by incoming missile strikes.

Baynes saw the indication of their failing shields and the exact moment their tenuous protection disappeared. Shortly afterwards he heard reports of enemy vessels clamping on to their hull and new breaches being blown. Reports flooded in of fighting on all decks and that his men were losing, their resistance futile.

His decision taken, he ordered his Exec Officer to join him in the destruction of his once mighty vessel. An explosive detonation stopped him short as he saw the poor man reduced to a liquid spray and he knew that all now rested on him. There was no time to do this properly and he raced to ensure that this failure at least would not fall at his feet.

It was, and always had been from the moment of the enemy fleet’s arrival, too late. A backhanded blow sent him reeling backwards in his chair and he screamed in pain as a whirring blade was pushed slowly into his stomach. The owner of the weapon calmly held the Admiral in place with one booted foot and proceeded to turn the man’s entrails into a horrific soup.

Still alive, Baynes looked up into the scarred and piteous face before him, pleading for release.

“I will give you release,” sneered the man, leaning forwards and kissing the Admiral on the lips, a vile spittle passing between them. He laughed even more as Baynes’ mouth began to blister and boil, “You are welcomed,” he snarled, “into his ever-loving embrace!”

AGL - Chapter One

2011-02-02T01:13:00.000-08:00

Spaceport
Regimental Command
Luther

Rank upon serried rank of soldiers stood in review, the recruitment was complete and they waited to board the descending transports. Commands roared across the parade ground, feet stamped in unison, banners flared and the 7th Lutheran Infantry Regiment boarded the waiting vessels.

Engines sparked into life, farting fumes into the still air as APC’s, aircars and tanks patiently awaited their turn.

The cleansing of Luther had been brutal and it had been nothing less than miraculous that the Inspectorate had found Colonel Walters to lead this Regiment. He had appeared one day, when they had called for blooded officers. Apparently he had been stuck in some outpost, his small contingent more than happy to follow him.

They had quickly assimilated the new troopers, his command organisation rapidly incorporating the new volunteers. The Regiment had easily taken him to their hearts, their loyalty at times bordering on heresy. If it had not been for the urgency of the recruitment, many more questions would have been asked. Particularly the Church Guard had raised numerous complaints at the accidents befalling their personnel, although the Colonel’s reports had been scrupulous in their content.

None could complain at the generosity of the man; he had brought his own pinnace with him, his men crewing the vessel at no extra expense. No-one had seen the full crew; they had remained on board, their bodies covered in a strangely fashioned armour. Some of them appeared big enough to be Church Elite, but everyone had of course dismissed that as a ridiculous notion.

Colonel Walters had been presented with the Regimental colours in a particularly strange ceremony by his huge and forbidding looking Leftenant, the stylisation of the screaming wolf’s head unique in its depiction.

*

“We are ready, my Lord!” carolled Krantu, his pride in the soldiers obvious.

“I’ve warned you about that,” admonished Walters, smiling.

“Yes, my L… Sir!” replied the K’ran, snapping to attention.

“Are the others on board?” asked Walters, squinting upwards at the latest transport to depart.

“They’re waiting for you, Sir!” said the strange Leftenant, indicating the two platoons of soldiers; their khaki fatigues blazoned with the snarling emblem of the regiment, their tunics uniquely piped with green.

“Very well,” commented, Walters, turning for one last look around.

He knew that he had the best of the people from Luther with him. Men and women made up his new command, their close families and hangers-on had already been ferried up to the awaiting ships. It was true that he was leaching vital resources from this world, but he had promised himself that they would all reap the benefits of their sacrifice a hundredfold.

Silently he prowled forward, Krantu and two other huge soldiers trailing in his wake. If only the Churchmen knew, he thought to himself, they would certainly not be so accommodating.

*

Major ‘Jimmy’ James tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk, the Inspector in front of him had presented him with a real problem. He had arrived only today, with a small entourage; two junior inspectors and three cadets.

“I do not see your problem,” insisted the man in a whining tone, “my orders are clear and it will go ill for you to delay me longer. I will present myself to your vaunted Colonel, and woe betide him if he tries to thwart me in my task.”

James smiled quietly to himself, thinking of this puny individual, threatening the Colonel. Inspectorr Ivanov noted the smile and his hand reached for his sidearm.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” growled a new voice, and the Ivanov started as Walters pushed roughly past him, a huge Leftenant sauntering in his wake.

“This man is impeding me in my duty, as an Inspector of the Holy Prelate, I do not answer to you!” he sneered.

Walters waited patiently, the silence lengthening uncomfortably. He glanced once at his Leftenant and the Inspector was driven to his knees by a tremendous blow. The boot placed into his back pinned him to the floor, his cheek pressed firmly against the metallic decking. His men made as if to reach for their weapons but the look in the Colonel’s eyes stayed them; it was chilling, deadly in its promise and brooked no defiance.

“You will address me as Colonel or Sir,” said Walters calmly, “you will never threaten myself or any of my men again. This is my Regiment, not yours and I will accept nothing less than obedience. I think you need a little time to yourself to reflect on this, to pray to the Prelate for guidance.”

He nodded to Krantu, who roughly pulled the Inspector to his feet, other soldiers entering and dragging the rest of Ivanov’s team away, after disarming and roughly searching them.

“Lock them in the cells on the pinnace,” he ordered Krantu, “I want no contact between them and the rest of the transport’s crew. Not for the present anyway.”

Krantu turned away, his silence signifying his acceptance, his large hand firmly gripping the Inspector by the hair.

“You’ll be sorry!” screamed Ivanov as he was bundled out of the office.

Grinning at James, Walters spoke, “I already am, my dear Inspector!”

*

Stiv Viker was feeling lost, lonely and pretty awful. Last night’s party had somehow managed to continue over until this morning, at least that was what his body was telling him. He felt like somebody was trying to pound their way out of his head, his mouth dry and furry, his lungs still choked with smoke and he certainly wasn’t open to conversation.

Not that there was much small talk in his platoon, everyone would rather kill themselves than upset Corporal Johns. He was one of the older soldiers, found somewhere by the Colonel and readily accepted by the rest of their strange leader’s unit.

It had struck Viker, the same as many of the other new recruits, that there was a sameness to the older men. A shape of body; muscles seemed to burst from new tunics, shaggy hair; which seemed to cover every part of their bodies, and those eyes. Like the Colonel they each had piercing green eyes, whose depths seemed to promise raw, animalistic anger.

Shivering, he turned to his bunkmate, Alana and prodded her with a grimy finger, “How you feeling?” he asked as quietly as he could, although it still sounded like a roar to his pained skull.

“Leave me alone!” she snapped, then groaned as she was roughly tossed out of her bunk, by the passing Corporal.

“Up and at ‘em!” roared Johns, a wide grin splitting his face.

“What?” replied a befuddled Alana.

“Leftenant Krantu has a job for us,” he said cheerfully, “and you know better than to keep him waiting!”

As one the recruits moaned in dejection, if there was one person more terrifying than Johns, it was the big Leftenant; he didn’t even look human!

*

Inspector Ivanov was apoplectic with rage, he had never been treated this way by any Church officer. They knew their place in the scheme of things and had always been terrified of what the snivelly little man could do to them.

This Colonel Walters though, he showed a disdain for the badge and rank Ivanov carried, there was none of the requisite fear, rather an all powerful belief in his own right to command. It all smelled of heresy to the Inspector and in his cell he delighted himself with the thought of what he would do to the Colonel when he got out.

The clanging of the cell door brought him back to reality, and he shrank back against the rear wall at the sight of the hulking Leftenant. Behind the man stood a group of curious soldiers, delight at the predicament of the Inspector written plainly upon their faces.

“Arrest him!” screamed Ivanov, pointing at Krantu, “I command you!”

No-one moved a muscle. Instead they looked at the Leftenant as he began first to chuckle and then roar with laughter.

Finally he stopped his unseemly behaviour and pointed at the Inspector, “This,” he said flatly, “is your first lesson. The only person you owe your unquestioning loyalty to is Colonel Walters. You can see his benevolence and thought for you. This Inspector and the rest of his breed will rot here in this cell unless they are converted to our way of belief. Any who feel the same as this scum will join him here, praying for release from his God.”

There was absolute silence, except for the mutters of heresy from the cowering Inspector. Then, Viker’s tremulous voice was heard, “His God, sir?”

“Ah, yes,” responded Krantu, his eyes flashing, “that would be lesson number Two!”

Outer System
Charsu
Second Church Protectorate

A straining of fold space announced the vessel’s arrival, it burst into normal space in full view of the Tauran ships. There was a poised danger about the strange three-masted alien craft; the Galleon had arrived.

One cold transmission was heard, “We warned you!”, and then with no further communication, gun ports slammed open, rapidly followed by a broadside of plasma which tore through the two lead Tauran vessels.

Two more ships appeared, their design that of more familiar Church origin, but they only sat waiting. Desperately the Tauran Commander tried to bargain with his attackers, against whose shields his plasma and rail guns had zero effect.

It was in vain; the Galleon ruthlessly destroyed vessel after vessel, each broadside smashing through ineffective shields and vaporising metal instantly.

When there was nothing left except space dust, a broad band transmission was beamed down to the planet.

“This is the Lost Company, we apparently were not clear enough for your liking. Please receive these gifts on behalf of our Lord. Perhaps others will learn from this lesson and respect the sovereignty of our protected worlds in future.”

The cold voice disappeared, never to be heard by anyone living on the Tauran planet. Objects spat from each of the three vessels, their flight programmed to perfection. They cut into the planet’s atmosphere and screamed down towards their carefully selected targets. Shortly afterwards, small extremely bright suns began to burn in each of the world’s major cities.

Without another word, the three ships once more jumped into anonymity of fold space..

Sudden Dearth Book II - A GUIDING LIGHT

2011-02-01T11:45:00.000-08:00

Seven sources of power, demons, unknown heroes and an all-powerful religion clash in a titanic struggle.

Men have become beasts. Some by choice and others by an unknown design. A galaxy-spanning battle has begun and not all yet know their part.

The Fortress has been reduced to rubble, the Taurans swept aside and the snarling K'ran's head banner flies in secret pride. A strange signal is received, a vast Tauran Fleet assembled and Walters and his men must again stand against both religious intolerance and Dark Magic. An unknown power calls to them all in a deadly race against time.

Coming to a Smashwords near you....real soon....

The Gift

2011-01-24T05:43:00.001-08:00

Yes, the long-awaited, at least by me, Anthology of Short Stories is here. They do connect in some way with differing timelines in the Urionverse. The Dark Wheel is relatively late in the Timeline, whereas Four Minutes is situated shortly before events in SD Book III. Superbia and Luxuria are around two hundred years before Sudden Dearth.

Having said that there is a common theme throughout. Hope you enjoy them...

ALOF - Chapter Four

2011-01-17T12:42:00.000-08:00

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

“We are leaving,” Lilith watched her Master, as he prowled restlessly around the darkened chamber.

“But, we can still win..” Lilith winced in pain, her altered state causing her to speak without thought.

“I said leaving, not giving up,” snarled Asmode, “we need more troops if we are to face the one who is coming. You are not my only option. In fact, you can stay, can prosecute my orders here. Hold them as best you can, I will be back with an alternate option soon.

It will cost me most of my energy to reach the one I must find, even now she calls me.”

“She?” asked Lilith, jealousy colouring her tone.

“Fear not little one,” he crooned, “she is just a tool. Even now she brings my plans to culmination and I must concentrate on her. You will return to the city and rally our troops. Carry them away from the conflict. Let my brother’s forces think they have won and perhaps they will receive enough damage from our other enemies, that our task will be easier.”

“Where will you go?”

“Nowhere,” he laughed, “and everywhere. Now go!”

Asmode waved his hand and Lilith felt her body surge with his dark power. Then she was transported back to the depths of the city and the awaiting troops. When she was gone, Asmode smiled. Things were going to plan. He had lied when he said that he would use his own power to bring his new forces. That energy was even now being harvested, he could feel it. With only a few more sacrifices he could leave this world and Lilith would be left behind. It was unfortunate, but necessary.

Planet Goldburn
3rd Eclisiarch Protectorate

Sven Larson was young and hung over. He had spent the previous evening drinking away all manner of problems, eventually falling into a drunken stupor in some alleyway. His wife dead, his job gone, what else was there to live for? Now he staggered through dark and unpopulated streets, hoping for someone to end his misery.

Fate had heard him, just not in the way he wanted. On he trudged, becoming more and more disoriented. Where was everybody? Never had he seen the streets so deserted. At last, he heard a noise; someone was singing.

*

Skipping lightly down the steps, basket half-held over her tiny forearm and red-hooded cape banging restlessly against her knees, Chary sang. Her shrill, piping voice at odds with the large basket and the tattoo, which spiralled down the left side of her face. From the container protruded two knitting needles, their points spearing a large ball of brightly coloured wool. Further down rested a darkness, whose dullness was mirrored in the dead obsidian eyes of the girl.

A grin split her face, giving the manic creature a touch of further insanity, as she bounced her way into the shadowed alley before her. The incongruity of her demeanour was accentuated by her surroundings and the things which waited, skulking there.

Roaring in anger the first of them reached for her, his spittle-covered jaw half-ripped open, displayed sharpened teeth. His arms were long, double-jointed and ended in pincers. Another appeared, an abomination, bent double under the weight of its sins. Cloven hooves clattered against the cobbled floor as it scrabbled forwards, a large rusty knife brandished in its third hand. There were more, many more, yet still Chary skipped, gambolled and sang.

At the last moment, she dropped the basket, hands quickly pulling free her wickedly sharpened tools. Spinning on her back foot, she avoided the clumsily clashing pincers, burying one of her weapons in a weeping and distorted eye. It was a swift movement, well-practiced and Chary was now laughing, no longer displaying any outward sign of innocence.

As the beast crumpled she moved on, her speed and agility superhuman, her laughter cruel and heartless. It did not take long, roars became whimpers, lambent life became cold and dark. There was a moment of silence, a snicking sound and then once more Chary skipped free, her shrill piping voice raised high in praise of her Lord and Master.

A hulking shape moved out of a nearby doorway and Chary crouched, one pointed implement miraculously appearing in her hand.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Miss,” a panicked voice commented, “Not at this hour, not in this place.”

Coalescing as if from nothing, a body; its nature in tune with the worried, high-pitched voice. Relaxing, Chary grinned, displaying a pure white set of sharp teeth, jaggedly filling her mouth.

“In His Name!” said the man involuntarily shrinking backwards.

“Indeed,” responded Chary in her little girl voice, “and for all time!”

*

“Who are you?” asked Sven, following the girl as she skipped gaily long, still humming contentedly. “Where is everyone?”

“Everyone? Who else do you need?”

Sven watched her, convinced that she was unhinged, her actions had been cold, the killing nonchalant. She seemed human, yet... Without warning she leapt upward, spinning in the air, her laughter ringing out. Sven heard a roar behind him, and crashed to the floor as a crushing blow slammed into him. His face smashed against the hard stone, blood bursting from his nose. A searing pain was followed by the feel of teeth ripping into his neck and he screamed. Faintly he heard the girl’s maniacal laughter fading into the distance and gasped for breath, an oppressive weight falling onto his chest.

He struggled, fought like he had never done before, like a wild animal. Teeth clashed close to his face and his vision swam with the pain from his broken nose. “Frak this!” he swore rearing his head back and then forward again, his skull cracking against his antagonist. His reward was the momentarily lessening of the attack. One heave and he was free, his hand scrabbling along the ground. Something cold. Sharp. Please. There, he had it.

Now he was screaming, pounding the creature with the thing in his hand, time and again. Warm liquid bathed him, splattering his face and arms as each blow fell. At last it was over and he stood trembling. Sound behind him again and he turned. This time he could see them clearly and his knees weakened, causing him to stagger.

Standing in a rough semi-circle were six leathern-winged creatures. Long yellowed fangs pushed out of a wide slit mouth from which emitted an incessant hissing. Blood red eyes stared fixedly at him from white corpse-like skin. Terror took a firm hold, twisting his bowels and he clenched muscles tightly, trying wholeheartedly to retain some dignity.

No words left those horrid lips, as taloned arms were raised. The abhorrent monsters approached slowly and with intent. Sven backed away, raising his bloody weapon in defiance. He would have laughed at the inadequacy of his defence, if any humour remained inside him. The thing he had found and grabbed in his desperation bizarre; a child’s discarded toy, a semi-metallic sword, which was now bent and broken. Useless.

Weaving the object menacingly in front of him, he backed away. A bolt of bright light sizzled past his head, wiping the rictus grin off one of the faces in a welter of blood and brains. More flew by and a rough hand dragged him back, turning and thrusting him through a shimmering window. Sensation disappeared and he fell.

*

He was sure that he was asleep. This sensation did not belong in the here and now. A cold hand touched his face and a child of almost ethereal beauty beckoned him on. All shimmered; the walls, floor, ceiling, even the child, her grin less than friendship and more than hate. Black eyes; cold, dead eyes in a white corpse face. Then another figure approached, the female monster from his waking dream and she too encouraged his desertion of his fellows. Her method of attraction was direct; fingers hooked into his collar and he was dragged unceremoniously along.

Sven tried to fight, to resist, but her strength was overwhelming. White light announced his exit from the silvery hell, but his new abode was even less inviting than his former. A cordon of soldiers with raised rifles faced him, mirror images of the nasty girl, but male. Mouth after mouth opened in a grin, showing their sharp teeth and they began to laugh.

Still the girl pulled him along, shoving him finally into a circular room, whose centre was dominated by a flat plinth. Its scored surface was stained with a brown and flaking substance and an intricate design drew his eye towards its centre. A dark hole beckoned and disappeared down.Sven was almost sure he could hear a sucking, slurping sound, but he drove the thought away.

Silence and then a smile, “What am I doing here?”

Chary looked at him and sniggered, “We thought you all gone.”

“Sorry?”

“The harvest was completed to plan. Those that are left are the abominations, those created in the Seeding.”

It was unintelligible, Harvest, Seeding, nothing made sense. Where were all the people and who were the creatures he had seen? Who had attacked him?

He started to speak, but she placed a long, thin finger to his lips.

“We wondered why the ritual could not be completed. Now we know. You were still to be found.”

Reaching to her waist, her fingers closed around one of the needle-like weapons and pulled it free. The metal glinted as it was waved towards him, “There’s no time to waste. If you would be so kind?”

His resistance was nil and as others began to file into the room, he allowed himself to be guided to his place.

Chary continued talking as she tied his hands and feet, “You see, we needed souls, born of vibrant and violent life. Your planet, your people gave us that. Our ships delivered the Seed and the Harvesting began. We are on the cusp of the new beginning and you will deliver us.”

Sven twisted and saw he was now ringed by many of Chary’s sick twins, heads bowed in prayer. A low dirge began, rising in volume with each passing moment. He felt a weight across his thighs and saw Chary straddling him, weapon held high in both hands. Her shrill voice joined in the unholy chorus and with a final scream the knife plunged down.

Blood trickled downwards, filling each line and groove in the intricate pattern. It spilled from Sven’s torn throat and broken body, sucked unerringly down the central hole. Maniacal laughter followed, something stretched and moved. The stone surface shattered, ripping the dead human’s body to pieces as it exploded outwards. Darkness took shape and form and finally, awoke.

ALOF - Chapter Three

2011-01-04T06:29:00.001-08:00

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

The Taurans, as a nation, were feared. They had terrorized their own quadrant of space for millennia, rising to power on the blood and screams of their enemies and servants. Only the Church had stood against them, casting them from one world after another with the power of their Faith. Their belief in the Great One had served as a bulwark against the Demon Pantheon, but lately this faith had been found wanting.

Walters’ discovery of the Artefact had led to an imbalance in the natural order and now the search for the remaining, and thought lost, items of power had become imperative. Of the seven known Artefacts, one remained with the Taurans, their leader wielding its bloodthirsty power viciously in the subjugation of any who tried to usurp his position. His lieutenants now hungrily cast through the vastness of fold space for those remaining. Of them all, Asmode was the only one who had held in his hands the means to challenge his leader. The planned sacrifice, which his priests had assured him was needed to activate the ancient item, had been interrupted with the arrival of Shan and his confederates.

Now he sat in his Throne Room and trembled; not with rage as was customary, but with the beginnings of a fear that Lilith had already noticed. He who now held the Artefact in his hand could eventually become a problem. The one that came though, Asmode could feel his power, was already an equal to Asmode and could well challenge his all powerful Master.

“My Lord?”

Lilith’s timorous question angered him; she had seen his weakness and that could not go unpunished. She wanted him to destroy Shan? Well, that would be her task. One, in which Asmode was sure she would fail. Whilst she tried, he would find and kill the one who had raised the Artefact’s power, before an even greater threat arrived on the planet.

“Go,” he snarled, “gather my army. Take all of my creatures with you from both above and below and destroy the impertinent servant of my Brother. Spare no-one and nothing.”

Lilith leapt to her feet, her wings snapping to their full extent. Her joy was patently obvious. Whatever had phased her Lord was now forgotten.

“Blood and Death!” she screamed as she took flight, a cry which was taken up all around the groaning citadel
*

The Ori had spent much of their existence under the yoke of their Tauran masters. Their mainly agrarian culture was not built to resist their aggressive neighbours and only those steeped in the Way had fought back. They were the Warrior Class and had left their less than war-like cousins behind. Whenever the Taurans attacked, they responded but in most case arriving too late to do much more than extract a minimal retribution.

Cormach had been trained in the Way, but as with many of his generation had yet to be accepted into the strict Brotherhood. There were those, a small faction who followed the Twisted Way, a brutal parody of the Tauran’s demon worship. These were pirates, robbers and murderers who did not place much distinction between the Tauran enemy and their own weak brothers.

The ship which exited silently from fold space, far from the disputed planet belonged to one such as these. Its lines were coldly beautiful, a twisted effigy of hate; an amalgam of all that was Ori, yet with the mark of demon worship. A thin, spear-like craft, it glided towards the dark side of the planet. Rescue was not its goal, rather plunder and a response to the powerful magnet of evil which resonated out into space.

On its bridge stood Sion Ap Marr, his figure clothed in fine black silk. He rested upon the hilt of his sword, made of twisted black metal which seemed to radiate a cold heat. Around him, his men bent to their tasks, oblivious to anything but their undetected insertion into the planet’s atmosphere. Cruel and heartless as their Captain, they lived only for death and pain, the promise of which they could taste.

*

Lilith was old, yet her nature kept her young. She lived off pain and suffering and the excesses of others. Once she had been normal, human even, but the pull of her Lord had drawn her in. She had been imprisoned by the Church, kept locked in one of their dungeons for centuries. Free now, she took immense pleasure in the particular suffering of humans. When, as in this case, they were not immediately available, she made do with others; Ori, Tauran, it was of no real concern to her.

Her wings snapped closed as she glided the last few feet, using her clawed feet to grasp the adornment atop the tower. To her left she could see the fleeing slaves, and that promised great pleasure in the future. To her right were the diseased followers of Shan and below her, boiling from the tower’s many exits her creations.

They were monsters; tortured effigies of K’ran and Ori. With the powers of her Master she had grown them in the vats and laboratories below and now they answered her call. Mindless, at best, they lived only to kill and today would be a good day for them.

She saw Shan, striding arrogantly in front of his mechanical aides and she smiled. Just a little closer...

*

Cormach was lost in the beautiful song; he swayed in time to its rhythm, his companion reflexively reaching out a restraining hand. To touch him though would mean death, as the brilliant circle of light shimmered with his tireless movements.

There was no rush of glorious power, it was rather an intoxicating feeling of well-being; nothing could hurt him. His brethren moved away, following K’san from the city and Cormach was pleased. The stench of Shan and his minions offended him and a slow anger began to burn.

He was blind to Lilith, all of his concentration fixed on the obnoxious Tauran. With a roar he leapt from the building, slamming to the ground in a cloud of dust. Righting himself he moved purposefully forward, his gold-armoured companion at his heel.

Before him stretched the twisted and diseased cannon fodder which Shan had brought with him, interspersed with the metallic caricatures of Arshavin. The Artefact span faster as he neared them, glorying in the imminent combat. Cormach swayed away from a bolt of laser fire, but continued on, his weapon now a shimmering oval of light in front of him.

He laughed as he sliced through the first line; rotting arms and legs, spinning away. Cormach grinned as one of the robots was split in two, sparks and cables writhing away, his companion sidestepping the crumbling construct. On he ploughed, leaving a swath of broken bodies and machines behind him. Shan was his target and he would let nothing get in his way.

*

Lilith held her troops back. This was unexpected. The one her Master was looking for had appeared, and he was clearly doing her job for her. A milling horde of her minions snapped and growled, impatient for the kill, but Lilith had learned much of patience during her incarceration. If she was lucky, her enemies would kill each other and then she could feast over their corpses.

Asmode entered her mind, urging her on, but she ignored him, letting the pain of his anger fill her. There were others she wanted too; the K’ran who had disobeyed her. Surveying the terrain, she saw them amidst the fleeing slaves. One, obviously a warrior led them. He seemed different, but he would do. As she lifted from the roof of the tower, she heard her Master’s wailing cry; perhaps after today, she would no longer have to listen to him.

*

K’san saw the creature rise from the tower, its leathern wings beating slowly as it took to the air. A stream of creatures followed; crawling, hopping and gibbering they came. Inside he could feel a faint recognition and then he spat. These were abominations! With a growl of his own, he stopped his men; his new pack turning with him.

“Kill!” he roared as he powered back down the hill, “In His name!”

No Ori followed, but his blood hungry companions would be enough. That and K’san could feel Walters’ presence ever closer. He drew on his Lord’s power, transmitting its strength to his followers, and raced on.

*

Lilith landed amongst the on rushing K’ran, the back draft from her wings bowling over those directly in her way. With a smile, she uncoiled her whip, flicking the trailing edge forward where it caught around the neck of one of her ex-slaves. Another deft movement of her hand caused the serrated edges to tear through the neck of the beast, blood fountaining outwards. She laughed, this indeed was pleasure.

Her free hand buffeted away a snarling maw and she sank her teeth into the exposed neck, drinking deeply. The blood was foul to her taste, but over the centuries she had become less picky of her victims.

A clawed hand hooked into one of her wings, tearing he away from her victim. Snarling she turned and met a fist which smashed into her mouth, breaking one of her fangs in half.

“You are mine!” roared K’san, as he continued punching; he could feel his power growing as Walters drew nearer.

“Master!” pleaded Lilith as she struggled within K’san’s grasp. Dark energy bubbled through her and her wounds began to heal. She thrust K’san away and raised her arm to strike with the butt of her whip. Before she could do so, an explosive round smashed into her arm, vapourising her elbow and part of her ribs.

K’san grinned, showing his teeth and bunched his muscles to leap. The air around him coalesced into a dark orb, the fabric of reality distorting before his eyes. A scaled hand reached through, dragging Lilith away and he screamed in frustrated rage.

It was but for a moment, as the heavy weight of one of Lilith’s beasts crashed into him. With a shake of his enhanced frame he struggled free, twisting to rip into his enemy. There were plenty of other foes here to kill, Lilith could wait.

Next Up...

2010-12-19T10:32:00.000-08:00

The next publication on Smashwords will be a Four Short Story anthology set in the Urionverse. My idea is to include the following:

The Dark Wheel - spin the wheel and take a chance
Four Minutes - not a second more to save the world
Knight's Charge - The Wildwose with a twist
Eternal - everlasting life, but not as we know it.

There still could be a change as I'm in two minds about the fourth one.

Watch this space...

ALOF - Chapter Two

2010-12-17T04:25:00.000-08:00

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

The Artefact itself lay forgotten below the blood-stained throne. It was a curious design, resembling nothing more than the thigh bone of some medium-sized animal. At either end of the bone was a shimmering circular indentation and the body of the item was criss-crossed with a tracery of thin and strangely woven runes.

Demon-infested priests had tried to mould it to their will with the death and binding of souls to its purpose, yet it had lain inert, dormant until today. Now a faint vibration shuddered it. The thing shook ever so slightly in time to some unheard of tune and the air around it shimmered.

It seemed as though it hid itself from view, although it lay in plain sight, until an Ori slave passed by. She started with repugnance and swept it up with the rest of the effluvium. Then, she began her daily walk to the rubbish mounds heaped outside the main laboratory. There, she threw her bag of rubbish and the bone became hidden amongst a pile of rotting corpses.

Before she left, she could have sworn that she heard a haunting, yet somehow familiar tune, but the rough hand of one of the guards impacting against her cheek made her forget.

In the main plaza, Cormach stopped and listened. He too, heard the lilting tones and felt a strange yet irresistible drag on his consciousness. As K’san led the multitude out of the plaza, he lingered, his head tilted to one side. Another, gold-armoured figure stood by his side, pistol held loosely between his hands. When Cormach set off towards the main entrance, he followed.

Galleon
Uncharted Space

Walters stood in the centre of the control room and stared at his new hand. The fingers were an exact copy of human flesh and bone, but their metallic sheen gave lie to the effect. He was the embodiment of an animated temple statue; hair was made of thin slivers of metal, bones and vital organs had become redundant when his spirit had infused the construct. A simple thought caused the hand to reform into a metallic blade and he laughed in enjoyment at the responsiveness of Arshavin’s original design.

It was then he felt K’san’s call and answered. Now he had the next piece in the puzzle. Instinctively he replied, channelling his power through his servant. He could taste the taint in the warp and the familiar flavour of the decaying Shan. There was also the response from the K’ran trapped on that far-off world, and something new.

“Arn,” he growled, “we need to be leaving. K’san has found what he was looking for and it appears that our old friend Shan has followed him there.”

“You have some specific co-ordinates?” asked Arn, the only one who could see through the shining body to the essence beneath.

“Of course,” Walters said, “I will give them to you shortly. First though, go and wake Berbatov up. He would hate to miss anything, of that I am positive.”

Arn bowed and left his Lord to his contemplation. One thing was for sure, life was always interesting onboard the Galleon, especially when Walters was making up one of his plans

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

Cormach walked in a daze. The music filled his mind, sending bursts of bliss and pain in equal measure. He blundered on, careening from one side to the other with his ever-present golden guardian behind him. Ever downwards they went, until they reached a long dark corridor, at whose end shone a sickly red light.

They had reached the laboratory complex. Here the Master’s minions carried out his sick experiments on those tortured souls unlucky to have been chosen. Past glass jars holding body parts they walked, through rooms of half-completed monstrosities and birthing chambers, where K’ran struggled to break free. It was a riot of sound; screams, guttural cries, things which pleaded for a mercy which was never to have been their’s.

At last the corridor arced upwards and on unsteady feet, Cormach reached the horrid charnel pits. Here, failed experiments and the refuse of pain were left to rot and moulder. Without a break in his step, he trudged on. Bones broke beneath his feet, gore and excrement clung to him, but he went on.

Behind him, his companion waited. Pistol turned back towards the sickly light and the now whispering sound of dragging feet.

“You need to hurry up,” it was said quietly, yet forcefully and seemed to touch a chord in Cormach’s sodden mind.

The Ori reached down, into the horrible mess and drew one bone clear. There was a ringing sound of completion and a silver glow covered his hand where he held the Artefact. From each end of the bone poured a cleansing light. Two symmetrical shards burst clear, coalescing into rigidity and he raised his weapon high.

Creatures shrank back into the tunnel away from the cleansing fire. They were hideously deformed, neither human nor beast and their eyes shone with malice and hate. Cormach waded clear and stood by his companion’s side.

“Come,” he said and strode forward. His right arm swung rhythmically and the weapon became a blur. The shards seemed to flow together, producing a shimmering circle. On he went, a battle cry bursting from his lips and without pause he ran, straight into the monsters’ midst.

*

Arshavin’s constructs had reached the outer city now, and their beams of destruction struck deep into K’san’s new forces. He hurried them away, even though his only thought should have been battle. They were mostly unarmed, weak and wasted. There would be time to repay the slights and suffering they had been put through. Half of his men he sent to chivvy them on, the others stayed with him to act as a rearguard.

*

Shan knew that he was close. He could feel the power of the artefact and he had little concern over its current master. The demon-spawn had fled back to the city and he strode at the head of his twisted Immortals.

In front of them was nothing but prisoners and slaves, freed in the insanity of his attack. They would provide him with new followers in time, but first he needed to secure his prize. He was still congratulating himself on his success when brickwork and bodies exploded out from the main building. As the dust cleared he saw one man, a gold-armoured figure at his side and a silvery blur of light.

*

Lilith knelt before her Master’s throne, leathern wings trailing along the blood-soaked floor. Above them were the sounds of bombardment, yet here there was calm. She had not reverted to her normal shape as she felt the call of battle. As it was, she was but a pale parody of the being who filled the bloody throne.

“It seems,” his deep voice boomed, “that the tales of my brother’s avarice are true. How far he has fallen. I can taste each breath of his lackey here on my world.”

“Why do you not crush him?” hissed Lilith, “The death of his servant would be a clear message.”

“My Dear Lilith,” he rumbled in laughter, “that is your job. Even I would not flaunt the Accords.”

“But, My Lord...?”

“Enough!”

The room trembled with Her Lord’s rage and Lilith cowered. He was as close to a full Demon that one of the Tauran’s could be and still retain his own sense of identity. After generations of worship, he had climbed to the pinnacle of power, crushing and burning his enemies as he rose. Old, he breathed an arrogance which brooked no question, yet even so, Lilith felt he was wrong.

“You will do my bidding! This Shan comes for the Artefact, which even now sings its horrid dirge of death. Bring me its new owner and I will break him to my will, as I have done so many others. Shan you will ignore for now. Group together our forces and ready them for my signal. When the times comes we will send my brother a message, one than his disease-ridden spawn can take to him personally.”

This was more like it. Lilith licked her lips in anticipation; death and torture would stalk this world once more.

Her Lord stopped, sniffing the air with a strange motion as though questing for an elusive scent.

“There is something else,” his stentorian whisper still causing the bones in her chest to vibrate, “another comes...”

Lilith looked up, there was something in her Lord’s voice she had never heard before...fear!

Sudden Dearth III - A Leap Of Faith

2010-12-15T00:43:00.000-08:00

As I am in the final stages of editing Book III in the series, I thought that I would give you all an insight into how it's going. So here is Chapter One of Book III...

Ori Homeworld

Cormach was angry. To be captured as easily as a newborn babe, whilst sleeping shamed him. He had been warned of the effect of excess, how it led to the Twisted Way. Yet he was young, over-confident and had ultimately paid the price. His nose wrinkled in response to the stench which wafted up from his unwashed and battered body.

They had taken a break and he sat in his and others’ filth. The rough chains and slave collar chafed against his skin. Runes ran along its length and negated his will. Not all, though. How he longed for the feel of his bow and blade in his hand. Then he would make these accursed Taurans pay. It was not to be though, his weapons lay forgotten on his homeworld, along with the shattered bodies of his kin.

The bestial grunts of his captors broke into his reverie and he flashed a hate-filled glance towards them. His time would come, yet for now he must wait.

*

Ships, bloated like flies after a carrion feed, rose from the burning remains of the Satellite colony. They had come to fill their bellies with sacrificial souls for their Master. It had been a good raid and now they left, before the Ori reaction force could retaliate. One by one they winked out of existence, the last leaving just as the first of the vengeful Ori vessels exited the boiling maelstrom of fold space.

Inside the lead ship, Lilith laughed. Her Master would be pleased. The forges and laboratories were waiting for these long-lived souls. The Artefact would be activated and their troops become unstoppable. Yes, it had been a good day.

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

The Ori had seen his brothers and sisters herded into the dark doorways, he felt their fear and despair. Still he did not lose hope. Their misery had been compounded by the treatment they received within the Tauran ships and then on the forced march from the landing.

He recognised that his moment had come when the foul beast turned on its handler. The chariot’s passage back through his people snapped his chains and he rose, calling to his brothers to help. They ran blindly away from the tangled mess of bodies.

At first they made ground, but soon heard the sound of pursuit. Cormach began to lose hope when he was dragged roughly into an alleyway and saw more enemies awaiting him. Surprise stunned him into silence as they were roughly manhandled to one side and gold-armoured creatures stood to meet the Taurans’ charge. It was soon over and once again he was a captive.

He was shocked when they were not mistreated, yet bundled into a large room above the streets. The armoured men parted and he saw a silver-haired individual approach. There was something animalistic about him, barely held in check. He reminded himself that he was a true warrior of the Way and stood to meet his fate.

The man signalled to one of the smaller of the armoured figures, who removed his helm and Cormach gasped.

*

K’san saw the quickly masked amazement on the Ori’s face. S’sral’s collection of allies had been indiscriminate and now it was as though the rescued alien looked into a mirror. The only difference was the snarling K’ran’s head tattooed on his colleague’s pale face.

“Tell him why we are here,” he said, turning away, “and be quick about it. We don’t have much time.”

*

Lilith was furious. She had been so close to perfection, when the idiot guard had spoilt everything. With a snarl, she withdrew her knife and slammed it into the cowering man’s chest. He at least would not fail her again.

“Loose the beasts!”

More K’ran were brought from a nearby building. These were smaller, lithe and deadly. Bred for hunting, they strained in eagerness to be away. Their handlers took them close to some of the mashed corpses and they snuffled at the alien smell. Yips of excitement told her that they had found the scent of the fugitives and they were set free. There was no need to follow quickly behind them. She was no longer interested in the capture of the Ori prisoners. Their deaths would suffice.

*

A growl interrupted Cormach’s discussion. He looked up and saw the silver-haired man’s face contorted in anger. His eyes blazed and he barked something at two of his men. They were quickly away. The Ori was sure he saw their bodies changing as they ran, but it could have just been a trick of the light.

“Stay here!” K’ran snapped.

Then Cormach was sure, as the human’s body rippled and shuddered. Before him was a growling, fur-covered beast. It snarled once and then leapt after the others.

High Orbit
Spindle

The craft hung silently above the planet. It was spherical in shape, silvered to the point of brilliance. One small red light pulsated, swishing round the sphere in a slow orbit. Without warning, it sped up. Now it blurred with its velocity, almost an excited and continuous line. A bubble in reality formed near it and a much larger ship winked into existence. The small craft whizzed upwards and a large black opening cracked wide, into which the tiny craft disappeared.

Master Arshavin sighed in contentment. It was as he suspected. Their mission was still alive and his new master, Shan, would be pleased. The time spent in study had not been wasted and the Artefact was still here. He bridled as the huge and pestilent bulk of a diseased Immortal brushed past him. Arshavin was lucky that he had no nose to smell the awful stench of Shan’s minion. It was bad enough that he could see him.

This one and his fellows’ presence on Arshavin’s craft, spoke clearly of the lingering mistrust in which he was held. Still, it was of little significance. He hurried to his control chair, sighing as he felt the surge of connection. Now he could carry out the first phase of his plan and perhaps at last be rid of the disease-infested Lord and his minions.

His commands were quickly transmitted and from the darkness of the open bay, silver forms emerged. They were larger than their tiny brother, cigar-shaped, but ending in a wicked point. Engines burst into life and drove them down through the unresisting atmosphere. Petal-like brakes deployed, slowing them, before falling away as their cargo bloomed forth.

Long, spindly arms flowed outwards from a diamond-shaped arm. They whipped in the self-generated breeze of descent for a moment, before realigning themselves into a streamlined shape. Explosively they struck the earth, burying deep into the tortured ground and destroying wilfully the horrid vegetation around them.

With a hiss and a groan they drew themselves forth, the trailing protuberances hardening into strong metallic legs. These clicked into life, drawing the diamond bodies upwards. Slender antennae appeared and twin red lights sparked. As one they moved forward, heading directly for the city in front of them.

Happy that his work was done, Arshavin sent his signal. Fold space began to boil and spat forth the Spiteful Dawn. Shan had come.

Asmode's Lair
Spindle

Lilith was lost in the anticipation of the hunt when the first red bolt struck the city, tearing its way through barely resistive rock. It was followed by beam after beam, which melted a path through the surrounding buildings. She heard her Lord’s mental scream of rage at the temerity of the action and his irresistible call-to-arms. She spat in frustrated pique, then ordered half of her forces to deliver their charges below. The rest she would need.

*

K’san felt the impact of the beams through his pads, yet his focus must remain on the hunting pack. They skittered around the corner of the alley, their claws losing their grip and he chose that moment to attack. He leapt from the shadows, one taloned paw crushing the first of the K’ran’s skull. His brothers joined the battle and the alley became a mass of snarling growls, rending fangs and tearing claws. Although numerically at a disadvantage, K’san and his men were much larger than the hunting pack members. They had also been imbued with their Lord’s grace and so the battle was short and bloody.

At last they stood, chests heaving. Beneath the unsheathed claws of each of them lay the bared throats of their victims, submissively stretched. Another volley of energy weapons crashed into the city and K’san paused, squinting towards the sound of destruction.

He lifted his claws and spoke, “Follow.” The now submissive K’ran rose and fell in behind him as he stalked away. It seemed that someone else had arrived to stake their claim and with much heavier firepower. He needed to think.

Drop pods continued to fall in a virulent wave from the sky. Shan had lost little time in disembarking his troops, the urge to kill was strong upon him. The world below was already tainted with the kiss of one of the Taurans’ demons, but he had a different embrace in mind. Within a number of the pods were special packages, humans infested with the blessing of his patron. Once on the ground, they would release their own kind of welcome to their warped brothers. It would be delicious.

Master Arshavin continued to cluck and scold his creations as they methodically destroyed buildings and razed ground. Beams of terrific force melted rock and evaporated any flesh foolish enough to place themselves in their way.

Shan could feel the call of the Artefact and this time, there was no semi-deity to stand in his way. Instead he could sense the presence of souls in torment and it excited him to think of the use he would put them to.

*

Lilith drove her bestial horde onwards. Her anger now had a target and she screamed in rage, the froth of madness spitting from her lips. She called on her Master and felt his power surge through her body in response. Ropes of muscle stood out as she swelled, wings burst from her shoulders, horns pushed from her head in an explosion of gore and she leapt free. Her whip crackled with energy and shimmered with an awful heat. A cackling joy bubbled from her lips as the long weapon licked out.

The first of Arshavin’s creations felt the touch of her weapon. Its caress scored the metal, leaving a trail of acidic bubbles. With a grown the limb doubled over on itself and the machine crashed to the floor. Behind, her troops fanned out. They too felt their Master’s benediction and changed.

*

Within the city and from the roof of his building, K’san watched the drama unfold. He was surrounded by his followers, new and old and they watched in surprise as he dropped to his knees. Arms wide in supplication, he called out to his Lord. A fresh breeze sprang up from nowhere, his hair fanning out in response.

The K’ran who had recently joined him fell to the floor, their bodies wracked with convulsions of ecstasy. Cormach too bowed under the pressure wave of love and concern which washed over him.

As one, they clearly heard Walters’ voice as it roared through their minds, “I come, my children, do not fear.”

K’san turned to face them, his eyes blazing with a peculiar green light, “Prepare yourselves,” he crowed, “our Pack will run again!”

*

On the battlefield, deep within the forges and laboratories and even in the torture and slave pits they felt Walters’ call. K’ran knew the Truth, Ori a blessing and hope which renewed them, and they fought.

Shan spat in rage and fury, urging his troops on. Lilith screamed in challenge, before wheeling away, her wings beating strongly to carry her back to her Master’s side. There, upon his blood-soaked throne, her Master dropped the Artefact in his hand as it burnt and scored his flesh. He struck about him in a hate-filled frenzy. His goal had been so close and now he must begin again.

*

Masses of K’ran and Ori poured from the exits of the building below and huddled together in the main square. Their faces turned up to feast greedily upon the silent figure which stood high above them.

“Come,” said K’san, “it is time to gather our people, ready for our Lord’s arrival.”

They followed him down, pushing and shoving to be at his side, Cormach the foremost of them. Now he could fight and he screamed his battle cry of old, and from below he heard its echo.

Christmas Cheer...

2010-12-14T10:23:00.000-08:00

Really getting into the swing of it now - the tree is up, lights work, baubles dangling and I've even written my letter to Santa. I love how he always eats the cookie, drinks the whisky, lets Rudolph eat the carrot and leaves me a message every year.

Talking of messages, the Wildwose seems to be sending out the right one. More and more people are downloading it, and that is just on Smashwords. It gives me a warm feeling about how the anthology will be accepted. People are still downloading Sudden Dearth too. If you haven't got your copy - what are you waiting for?

More details on the shorts to come soon.

Watch this space...

Next up on SW...

2010-12-13T00:49:00.000-08:00

Well, having survived the terror of Christmas shopping on the weekend; mothers screaming at children, arguements over where the queue to pay starts, who gets the parking spot and of course the ultimate being the that guy with the white beard is so not giving me a kiss. Love it...

The next instalment for Smashwords will be a small short-story anthology. There will be three or four shorts, with the background being the Urionverse. This will include The Dark Wheel, Eternal and Four Minutes. All are a mix of horror and science-fiction, with some more horror than others.

They will hopefully be up in the next week or so.

Watch this space...

Cover Art Works

2010-12-10T04:09:00.000-08:00

I am definitely convinced that the art work is what snags the interest, especially for a digital site. The Wildwose topped over 100 downloads in the first few days, with plenty more page views. Okay, it was free, but I reckon that the picture sold the concept before anyone read the synopsis.

This picture attached was used for a story of mine called A Cold Dish. Again, it is set in the Urionverse, but tells the tale of cold vengeance and a man who like a violent storm follows his designated path, irrespective of the consequences. You can see the first chapter up on the SD facebook page notes. More to follow.

Watch this space...

How do you choose?

2010-12-09T01:50:00.000-08:00

Now that I am out there on Smashwords and the bigger world is just days away, I have been studying the competition, so to speak. One of the big questions I have, when I look at the multitude of offerings is - how do you choose? Is it the cover art? Is it the synopsis? What is it?

I personally have tried a little of both first hand on the free samples and have been both surprised and disappointed. The synopsis gives a small space, 400 characters, on Smashwords with which to hook a reader. I'm working on that for the next offering. The cover art for SD and The WW is awesome, so we have a winner there.

I was at a Book Fair this morning and started testing out my theory that the art attacks the eyes first and then the synopsis tidies up any doubts, and for me it works. Am I strange? You tell me. As an aside and perhaps a visual teaser, here is the art, courtesy of Diggory, which I want to use for SDII - A Guiding Light. which has been part-serialised on this blog. What do you think?

SDIII excerpts coming soon. Watch this space...

Oh, Happy Day - Apple here we come

2010-12-08T01:42:00.000-08:00

Well, the rain in Spain actually falls directly on my house...guarantee it. Yes, I know it's not snow and it's not cold, but torrential rain stops a walk in the park, tapas and a cerveza sat in the sunshine...the usual stuff. Anyway, it does give me some time to write a bit more about how things are progressing on the self-publishing front with respect to Sudden Dearth and The Wildwose.

Great news yesterday that SD has been accepted first time into the Smashwords Premium Catalogue (just gotta love my wife for her many skills) and now will be available on Barnes & Noble, Sony, Diesel, Kindle and Apple. Amazon as well soon. The Wildwose should be no problem either, just time in the queue. So, I'm going global!

The next offering will be up soon, although I am toying with what it will be. More on this to come soon.

Watch this space...

I'm Contagious...Pass me On!

2010-12-07T01:57:00.000-08:00

AS you delve deeper into the world of e-Book Marketing, you begin to learn new terms and methodology (see, I'm already using big words!). Apart from tag clouds which I learnt about yesterday, apparently today's lesson is all about going viral.

Now, you can imagine what initialy crossed my mind...careful, I thought we had entered one of my stories. Well, no, it's all about linking, sharing and passing on. Did that sound bad to anyone else?

As my first try, I decided to see what could be done with The Wildwose. It's FREE, is an interesting premise and hopefully people will enjoy the read as a reward for their eforts.

So...LINK ME, SHARE ME, PASS ME ON!!!!

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/32297

Smashwords update

2010-12-06T03:11:00.000-08:00

So, first day over and The Wildwose seems to be doing alright - over 200 page views and 50+ downloads. It has already helped provide some traffic for Sudden Dearth itself and so maybe a revisit of my strategy to short stories rather than a FREE novella makes more sense. Time today to think about it.

Oh, and if anyone needs reminding, you can download 40% of Sudden Dearth FREE as well.

Watch this space...

Smashwords

2010-12-05T06:18:00.000-08:00

An interesting statistic is that The Wildwose, since I put it up this morning, has been seen and downloaded more times than Sudden Dearth in nearly two weeks. Could it be that it's much shorter than Sudden Dearth and in our fast-paced world attention spans wander too...we're losing, again? Chris Hughton needs to put a rocket up someone's ar...where was I? Oh, yes, I personally think it's the great cover by Diggory, it sort of smacks you between the eyes with its awesomeness.

Anyway it's now on Smashwords at http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/32297 and is absolutely FREE.

SALIGI will be following soon. Watch this space...

The Wildwose Part II

2010-12-04T05:06:00.000-08:00

So, woke up this morning feeling fine...sorry, too much coffee. The cover art, awesome work by Diggory Steele-Perkins, is ready and I posted it on the FB page. Checked some of the Sudden Dearth page stats and found that there are now 342 likes, 100 active monthly users and that there were 999 page views yesterday! Smashwords page views and sample downloads are rising.

Looks like the marketing is starting to work...but I need more readers, followers and connections so, back to the grindstone.

Watch this space.

The Wildwose

2010-12-03T04:12:00.000-08:00

Very near to posting The Wildwose on Smashwords - it should be available this weekend if I can agree on the cover art and pester my long-suffering wife to make sure I haven't screwed up the formating with my edits. As soon as it is ready, I will let everyone know.

As background, this was a short story wot I wrote a while back (apologies to Ernie Wise). A few people who got the chance to read this at the time mentioned that it would have made a great comic book...or it was something to do with a clown, anyway... I would be interested to hear what people think.

It is, like Euthan Palace and A Cold Dish, set within the Urionverse, yet at a time distant from Sudden Dearth. It was an idea started as a potential book, which then became a short story, kept for future reference. I think it works as a short story, but I'm biased, so would be interested to hear from you...yes, you at the back!

Watch this space...

Marketing SUDDEN DEARTH Part II

2010-12-02T01:29:00.000-08:00

So let's see where we are...number one, write a great book (well it's written anyway), number two, write another one...what the! Oh yeah, got a couple more somewhere. Number three, maximise distribution - that is what I'm working on, but it takes time. Number four, give (some of) your books away for FREE. Check. I will be posting a short story and a novella for FREE on SW real soon, and anyway there's Euthan Palace, 26S, Urion's Belt...wait a minute, am I charging for anything! Crap, what's next?

Okay, calm down, number five is trust your readers and partners which I do anyway, so no worries there. Number six is have patience and seven is marketing starts yesterday. Sod it, I knew I was too late...oh yeah, see number six.

And last but not least, number eight, architect for virality. Well I can be as contagious as the rest of them, so we're set, no?

(Tips extracted from The 7 Secrets to e-Book success by Mark Coker)

Marketing SUDDEN DEARTH

2010-12-01T03:47:00.000-08:00

This promises to be an interesting journey, as the fresh rush of viewers trails off from the initial page impact. I have spent some time studying various success stories, blogs with tips and even the Smashwords own marketing guide. Armed with my list I have begun...

It's opening up new skills today, as I learn how to link all of my preferred sites via URL either to here, or direct to the book page. Not everyone is standard so I now have a list of URL formats required by different places. Signatures on sites now include my link too. I have yet to stoop to begging, but that apparently is an option for the future!

I will give updates on here and my FB page on how I get on and am expecting the FREE copy of SALIGIA to help in the process. That is of course is someone likes it.

Watch this space...

SALIGIA

2010-11-29T02:03:00.000-08:00

I have just finalised the editing on a 15,000 word Novella called SALIGIA. In it, you will find a series of short stories with a common theme (The Seven Deadly Sins) and character. I wrote it as a device to introduce the Tauran Demon Pantheon, mythology linking the Urionverse and in order to link the stories within Sudden Dearth to the legend of Urion and his Belt.

SALIGIA will be published shortly on Smashwords and will be FREE. In this way I hope people who do not know the Sudden Dearth books will gain some background and an inkling of what they might expect pruchasing Sudden Dearth itself.

Just remember that SD is available right NOW on Smashwords and the link is:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31175

Hooray!!!

2010-11-24T12:50:00.000-08:00

At last, Sudden Dearth has been published on Smashwords. You can find it at:

http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/31175

A huge thank you to my wife for her formatting skills, and patience of course. Also to all of you who have been free with your advice, comments and encouragement.

The cover art, courtesy of Diggory Steele-Perkins, is awesome.

I can now say I am a self-published author.

Watch this space for further information...

Update

2010-11-16T12:33:00.000-08:00

Here is an update on the whole Sudden Dearth Saga. Apart from the fact that it's my birthday, I've had a great meal, loads of pressies and am sat in front of the fire with an ice-cold Gin Tonica - chilling, big time.

So, SD is now ready for the big test. SDII is on the Editor's Table and SDIII - A Leap Of Faith is close behind. SDIV - El Juego-The Game is on a re-write as I didn't like where it was going, and the story needs me on board. I will begin posting SDIII here shortly.

As soon as SD is accepted format wise for SW, I will let you all know. Thanks for lsitening and those who made comments - it's all been helpful, and please keep up the process for the next books.

I will be back in the swing of posting very soon.

Cheers!

Smashwords Part II

2010-11-14T14:54:00.000-08:00

At last! Yep, I have finished the edit and last spellcheck, so it's an upload tomorrow and if no more delays Sudden Dearth should be up and running on time. Just need to make sure the artwork meets the necessary demands from SW in terms of title and size.

Once it's up, I'll let you all know. Next will be the turn of A Guiding Light, we'll see how long that one takes...

Smashwords

2010-11-09T11:47:00.000-08:00

Well, my extremely long and drawn-out journey to publication on Smashwords appears to be almost here. My long-suffering wife has taken the formatting out of my hands and has done a much, much better job than my previous attempts.

So, for those who have kept the faith, I can truly say that before the end of the month, Sudden Dearth will be available on Smashwords.

Please feel free to sound the trumpets, clash the symbols or whatever is necessary to prepare a relatively unsuspecting world...

Update

2010-10-15T10:54:00.000-07:00

This is a big thank you to those following this blog - we've cracked the 100 mark!

I also wanted to give you an update on the progress of the series. As some of you know, Book III of the series - A Leap of Faith - is now complete and Book Four - El Juego - The Game, is up to Chapter Twelve and is slowly taking shape. In SDIII and IV, there are new characters and some old favourites, who help push the action along nicely.

There is also a link on this page to the original story, Urion's Belt, which started this whole thing off. I will eventually get around to posting more of that, promise.

And for those of you who like Horror, you can use the link on this page to my other blog 26-S. It is a mix of Historical Fiction and Horror, set in the backdrop of the Spanish Civil War and almost modern day.

Thanks again and keep watching, Chapter Eighteen of SDII will be posted shortly...

Chapter Fourteen

2010-08-16T07:34:00.000-07:00

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

The silvery projectile left the Gauss rifle in a blur, rocketing through the control room and splattering part of that which was Magos against the walls. It did not, however, totally destroy what was fast becoming Master Arshavin once again. His many years of mutation and adaptation, had made him extremely hard to kill, and both more and somewhat less than human.

Whilst in his semi-machine state, he was still connected to all that was the construct, and he futilely tried to regain control. He was slapped mentally and watched helplessly, as the drone ships began to reform, their programming different somehow, as they blatantly disobeyed him.

He screamed as the last of his links were ripped asunder and once again, he was nothing more than one cast out ex-Tauran. Despair crashed in upon him, as his creatures disobeyed and rushed to do someone else’s bidding. All, though, was not lost, and as he braved the lack of atmosphere, his smashed control room and the less than responsive controls, he dragged himself to his survival pod.

Whoever had done this would pay, thought Arshavin, it was not over quite yet. Once inside the escape craft, he activated a sequence of keys manually, over-riding the ship’s own constraints and launching his lifeboat. It was no mere escape pod, his tinkerings over the centuries had seen to that for all of his creations. Sat cocooned in his new metal shell, he directed himself away from the remains of his construct, there would be time for a new Magos, something different and certainly less susceptible to destruction.

The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Marius was no longer quite human; the change process within the pupae had rebroken demon-twisted bones and grown new ones. The genetic pattern, held within the winged remains had been dominant over his remaining humanity and had burnt the tainted spores away. What now strode forth from the liquid remains of the pupae, was something much more; a new and improved version.

The circle of adoring creatures continued to croon encouragingly and Marius stopped, his head cocked on one side, as he watched them. His new eyes were bright, whirling with a myriad of colours and his movements were precise and avian-like. His hair was gone and a downy covering of feathers not only protected his bald pate, but had spread across his whole body, their rich blue colour striking.

His legs were long and spindly, seemingly too weak to support his upper body and its massively muscled chest. The need for such a powerful upper body was revealed as he stretched, and his creamy-white wings unfolded. He held them out to dry and croaked reassuringly at his watchers, who squatted patiently, awaiting his every command.

*

Shan ran, his putrid breath rasping loudly and echoing off the narrow-walled streets. Behind him came the last of his men and two of the newly converted undead creatures. They had not stopped to fight, rather as soon as he had heard Walter’s animals close by the Tauran Adept had fled. He had left his men behind and put as much distance between himself and the encroaching enemy as possible.

He could always create new troops, although the loss of his converted Immortals would hurt him, once he was clear. His Master needed him and Shan did not expect to let him down. In this the Tauran’s ego had taken over, demons cared little for their vessels and could easily find a new one.

On and on he ran, his heavy boots pounding against the ground, their beat echoed only by the scrabbling of claws by his side.

*

Viker and Johns led their squad into the central plaza at a run, claws unsheathed and teeth bared. Their accompanying soldiers quickly took cover, where they could and did begin laying down heavy fire against the remains of the undead forces. There were few now, as the creatures had decimated them to start with themselves being turned upon by Marius’ new allies.

This was not a real consideration for Viker, whose internal beast was free and hungry to kill. He and Johns leapt straight amongst Shan’s forces, clawed hands ripping and tearing. Their squad poured concentrated volley after volley into the outer edges of the group, bunching them in towards the centre and the violence awaiting them.

One creature spread its wings, ready to leap above the fray, and use its momentum to spear back down towards Viker. He did not wait, one clawed hand slicing through its rotting wing membranes and hooking it back to earth. As its hungry maw snapped towards him, a laser-round flashed by, striking it cleanly in one eye and blinding it. Viker saw Alana lining up her next shot, but didn’t wait, his jaws crushing bone as he finished it off.

As quickly as the melee had begun it was over, Viker and Johns looking almost disappointed. They looked up amazed at the explosion of creatures, as they arced out of the central tower, their calls angry and menacing. No time was wasted in circling, they simply banked, folded their wings and dived, a harsh screaming cry their only evident warning.

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Walters revelled in the control of the machine; it seemed to have been made specifically for him. As Arshavin scurried away, Walters did not feel the urge to pursue him, he was more engrossed in the study of that which had been Magos. Its enhanced sensors added to those powers he inherently held, refining them with the precise mechanical routines contained within the drones. He could also feel the link with the robots fighting still on the ground below, almost as though they were an extension of his body.

Slowly, he infused the drones with his essence, allowing the connection to strengthen, the fluid machinery to reform. There was no need for a control room as Walters and the machine became one.

*

Robots disengaged from the conflict without warning, their spidery bodies transforming and propelling them quickly away, leaving the ground forces bewildered with their withdrawal. This confusion lasted but a moment as Shan’s disease infected troopers resumed their manic attacks.

Berbatov had little time for the make-up of his enemies; he was more concerned about killing them. His timely arrival had changed the balance of the engagement somewhat, but was still to be conclusive. The fact that his own dead rapidly revived, to take part in the attack on the zombies’ side was a little disconcerting. However, ever the pragmatist, the big man just killed them again, this time permanently.

*

James had responded instantly to Berbatov’s summons and he and his men had pushed forwards, their tanks’ battle cannons blasting a molten path through their enemies. They were making steady headway, although the disappearance of the robots had freed more of theTauran forces up, and forced him to consolidate his position, before moving on again.

“Sir!” shouted one of his scouts, pointing to the mass of robots which had appeared once more on a ridgeline to the south of them. They stood silently, in a single line, apparently waiting for something.

“Oh Frak!” cursed James, as he saw what it was that had caused their vigil; a huge, towering robot, cast in the image of man, descended from the skies, retro-rockets slowing its descent in a flare of blue-white brilliance.

The thing was enormous, its burnished metal skin flashing in the sunlight as it lightly landed amongst its minions. It paused for a moment, looking down in apparent affection at the robots below and then began to stride forwards, its tremendous footsteps reverberating through the very earth. Its robots flowed along with it, to the front, side and rear they roamed, red eyes bright and malevolent once more.

The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Viker opened his arms and roared his defiance skywards, as the creatures plummeted towards him. He felt rather than saw his squad join him, professionally taking up their firing positions. The sound of power cells being changed and clicked into place gave him a feeling of reassurance and he howled once more, challenging his foes and telling his pack where he was, all at once.

By his side, Johns mimicked him, crouching slightly in anticipation of the coming fight. Closer came the creatures, Viker’s keen sight now being able to discern their distinct number and also identify one individual above all others. Its vivid blue was in direct contrast to the others midnight black. He could feel its presence, awakening a response within him, his muscles tensing ready to spring him towards his enemy.

Rifles were raised and targets selected, fingers tightening on triggers, but at the last moment, the precipitous dive was halted, wings flicking outwards to haul their owners upwards and brake their mad dash. As one they slowed, the back beat of their wings causing a physical stirring of the air around Viker, yet still he did not relax.

The blue-hued leader, for that was obvious, dropped in front of Viker, his wings folding gracefully against his body. There were no distinctive clothing or marks, a fine covering of feathers encased his body. Yet he strode forwards on his spindly legs, with an arrogance born of familiarity. John’s muscles bunched, in preparation for his leap, and the creature spoke once, dismissively.

“Not a good idea, Johns!” his voice was distorted by a strange clicking and whistling, the beak-like mouth not assisting speech to any great degree.

Viker tensed, there was something about the intonation, the command, and with this faint recognition he placed a restraining hand on Johns’ chest.

“Who, or what are you?” growled Viker, staring intently into the creature’s whirling eyes.

“I am, or rather I was, Captain Marius,” he seemed even puzzled himself as he continued with his strangled speech, “now I don’t know what I am. I need to speak with Walters urgently.”

“That would be Colonel Walters, at the least,” snarled Johns, still straining against Viker’s hand.

“Perhaps,” laughed that which had been Marius, “although I think we are more equal now, than ever before. Tell me, where is he?”

It was Johns’ turn to laugh now, “What? Captain high and mighty, don’t you know where he is? Can’t you, with all your power, simply just feel him?”

Marius screeched in anger and one clawed hand swiped towards Johns, but Viker parried the blow, leaping forward and kicking out, slamming the creature back.

“You will regret that!” hissed Marius, raising his head and screaming to his followers, “believe me. The lives of your men are now forfeit!”

“We’ve heard that before!” answered Viker, his barked retort accompanied by his charge, forcing Marius to unfold his wings and power himself skywards. He was just too slow, as Viker’s clawed hand hooked into the muscle of his left calf, snagging him and drawing him back down. Marius stared directly at Viker, ripped his leg free and then used his momentum to pivot and slash a taloned foot across Viker’s chest.

The comforting crack of laser-rounds, joined the roars and howls of Viker and Johns and the screeches of Marius’ creatures. No quarter would be given, Viker was sure that this was no mistake, there was something wrong, evil in this thing that had been Marius, and he could not let it go free.

Chapter Thirteen

2010-08-11T15:42:00.001-07:00

The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Darkened alleys, blackened doorways and the interminable dust of ages passed in review as Marius continued his tortuous route. The call was getting stronger; a pulsing beat in his febrile mind. There was an unspoken promise, also a need, yet Marius concentrated solely on the resonating ring in his head.

Time passed slowly; each drag, each fall brought him a little closer to his objective. He did not marvel at the intricate architecture, its whorls and circles, nor at the obvious craftsmanship, its taste not quite human. His route took him past a domed building, strangely carved structures peppering its walls. There was no pause to enjoy the innate beauty demonstrated there, only the desperate need to keep going.

Dust filled what was left of his mouth, his blindness had long ago turned into piercing vision, yet this heightened gaze saw only one mote of dust after another. Where he slid, no foot had passed in eons, his tormentors had obviously taken another route.

At long last he reached an open grating set low against the wall of a building. The metal tines were twisted and torn, their still sharp edges ripping at his flesh as he pulled himself through. As he fell down a steep incline, tumbling and turning, he only felt relief. He had arrived at last.

*

Shan ran on towards the Tower, his men following behind as best they could. He too took little notice of his surroundings, not because he was physically incapable, but rather because they were of no interest to him. The howls continued and were closing in, making him increase his speed. Those behind him were expendable and he wanted the barrier of their presence in between him and whatever was making that noise.

With a cry of triumph, he reached the central square, the Tower rising from the exact middle of the cobbled area. Alien statues sat at measured intervals around the outside of the plaza, but he only saw the immense circular shape thrusting skywards. Eight separate exits neatly split the otherwise continuous wall formed by the surrounding buildings and their shadowed openings promised dark and mysterious secrets.

His search became more and more frantic as he raced around the Tower’s base; all that faced him was a smooth and impenetrable façade. There was no door, no windows and he now howled in frustration.

From each and every one of the mouth-like exits came an echoing peal of noise and Shan span to face first one, then another of them. Vague, misshapen forms moved just at the edge of his vision and he called urgently to his men to join him.

*

Marius slipped and rolled, tumbled and fell for what seemed an endless time, his body finally slamming into a waist high wall and coming abruptly to rest. He scanned about, the expected absence of light surprisingly missing. A glow infused the area, highlighting the piles of skulls and other bones, haphazardly strewn before him.

Looking up, he saw a hole in what he assumed was the roof, a perfectly circular opening from which the light cascaded downwards. There was something else, hidden from his view by the wall, on a kind of raised platform, but right now he was just glad that he had stopped moving. The urge to crawl forward was still there, in a dull aching sort of way, but not as pressing. It seemed as though he would be allowed to gather his breath, to recover a little, as though whatever called him knew he would need all of his remaining strength for one more task.

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Viker heard them before he saw them, a clicking and scrabbling of claws preceding their appearance. He sensed Johns’ shared anticipation for the coming fight, his growl now deep in his throat, presaging the violent explosion of movement to follow. Darkness had yet to fall fully, but it would be soon in coming. Long shadows cast by rubble and hillocks covered dips in the land with night’s blackness and it was from one of these hidden areas that Viker had heard the tell-tale noises.

His squad had fanned out around Johns’ and his position, utilising whatever cover that they could find. All of their weapons were pointed towards the area indicated by the tense and straining figure of Johns. Unannounced, Viker saw a pair of baleful green eyes which caught the dying rays of the sun. Suddenly there were more, a mass of writhing bodies becoming slowly visible. His growl too joined that of Johns. Fingers tensed on triggers, and prayers were intoned as the monstrous creatures slunk out of the shadows and into the last remaining light.

*

The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Once more the urgent impulsion came and Marius struggled on mal-formed limbs over the wall. He slid amongst one pile of bones, which crumbled into dust as he passed. Clearing the wall, he sank into them, a cloud of powder puffing up at his passing. Laboriously he approached the centre, around which appeared a more clearly defined pattern of bones, as though someone had deliberately placed them there with some actual design in mind. They flared outwards in mimicry of two giant wings, arched as though suspended in mid-beat.

The previously rapid mutation of his body had slowed almost to a standstill, his bones still retaining a vaguely humanoid shape. Using clawed and twisted hands, he dragged himself up to the central dais and flopped onto its flattened upper surface. Before him was a throne, or that was what it appeared to be and resting upon it was a pair of bloodied wings, seemingly ripped recently from some creature, a red fluid dripping slowly down their length.

Still the call was relentless, drawing Marius’ broken frame forwards, ever closer to the stone seat and that which it held. With an overpowering compulsion driving him on, Marius finally reached the chair and raised one shaking and disfigured hand towards the bloody remains resting there.

*

Shan felt the moment Marius reached the throne and despair swamped him, as he realised he had failed. His link with the now half-mutated individual was still strong and when Marius’ crumpled fingers made contact with the eternally bloody flesh, he knew, deep down inside himself a long wailing cry sounded.

It was as if some playful god had stopped time, or at least let it play forward, but only frame by frame. A beam of light seemed to peek out of the Tower’s tip and almost shyly rise skywards. Little by little night became day, as the brilliant energy bathed the whole area. The Tauran Adept saw his men’s mutilated and rotting faces turn in slow motion, their howls of anguish coming forth only as deep bass moan. Spittle which flecked their decaying lips, fell, but only drop by drop, as though reluctant to touch the floor and break the spell.

The creatures which flowed out from the darkness, did so step by step, their wings tucked against their backs. They were all that was left of the great creature’s offspring and their hunger glinted manically in their eyes. Mouths slowly opened, betraying razor sharp teeth and their ululating tone seemed to go on forever.

All at once, real time returned and the noise of battle crashed in upon Shan. His people’s moans were neither pleas nor battle cries, yet they gave up their half-lives almost loyally in his defence. Short foreclaws tore at them, as teeth snapped closed on the undeads’ limbs and Shan smiled, his evil and lascivious version of a smile that is.

That which made up the disease which held the zombies to their pitiful version of life replicated, its new spawning ripping energy from its now dying parent. Almost gleefully, this spores burrowed their way into the creatures throats, and gums, wriggling into their bloodstreams and changing their allegiance in a less than complicated, but extremely effective attack.

Then Shan felt better, he saw his new minions turning to snap at their brothers and sisters, no longer interested in his death, but rather the prevention of it. He glanced once at the Tower and grinned, it was not yet over.

*

The instant his fingers brushed against the extremities of one bloody wing, Marius was lost. An electric charge shot down his arm and his body jerked rigid, and began to smoke with the transfer of what was an inconceivable level of energy. His already pliable skin began to melt once more and his mouth opened in a silent scream. In his head, he thought he heard a dry chuckle, but was unsure.

That which Shan had given him was burnt away, literally, flesh flashing into vapour, with the accompanying smell of charred meat. He could only hold onto the core that was Marius, that and the gift he had been given by Walters. It did not seem as though it could be enough, as bones began to be visible, beneath the remains of muscles and tendons. A cracking and shattering sound echoed round the chamber and he bent double as his spine split in two. Still his finger melded to the winged remains and yet more energy was discharged into his body.

His collapsing frame fell forward onto the chair, his chest now impacting onto its seat and the rest of the remains held there. Marius could not think, could not see and did not care, as the pain became his whole world. Like limpets, tendrils slashed outwards and stuck to him, sucking yet more of his essence and deflating what had become little more than a bag of flesh further.

At last, it was all one, a pulsing sack of bones, flesh and liquid, from within which Marius clung onto the most tenuous of holds on life. It began to solidify, lengthening and thinning out, bones re-meshing and limbs reforming. A translucent skin covered it all, and beneath could be seen a constantly moving liquid. The skin hardened, the form becoming rigid on the throne and the lights flashed and played against the pupae that now waited for rebirth.

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Viker watched surprised as the emerging creatures stopped and melted back into the shadows. He sensed rather than saw them turn and race towards the distant Tower and whatever called them. He and Johns, along with the rest of their squad, saw the gigantic beam burst skywards, and with no single word of agreement exchanged, they started forwards. The Tower seemed to be calling them too, and they still had a long way to go.

The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Looking fondly at his new creatures, Shan smiled, this was now going to be much easier. He could send these things to do his bidding, perhaps even one of them would be big enough to carry him? That though was a risk he would rather avoid.

Strangely enough, he began to hear more of the hooting and howling calls and wondered whether his luck could get any better. That was until the first of them swooped out of the sky and slammed into his recently won followers. He saw others take flight and launch themselves towards the heights of the Tower, their looping and circling motion almost a display of joy and love.

What was happening? Everything had been going so well and now? It was then he heard the unmistakable snarl of the accursed Walters’ men and turned to flee. There would be another day.

*

Inside the Tower, the pupae moved once more. Strange protrusions pushed and strained against the once more malleable skin, desperately looking for a way out. A small tear was formed, which widened and lengthened, fluid weeping out and dripping down the throne’s side.

One by one, the surviving offspring winged their way downwards, until they sat, hunched and expectantly waiting, like loving parents awaiting their first born.

Then with a tearing sound, the pupae split in half, spilling its contents onto the dais. The strange howling, hooting noise began again, this time quiet and restrained, as Marius rose from amongst the sticky remains.

Chapter Twelve

2010-08-09T15:14:00.000-07:00

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

“I have brought you a gift, my Mas-s-ster,” the sibilent voice hissed, tickling at the corners of Marius’ consciousness, “it is the one respons-s-sible for our delay.”

“Excellent!” came the reply, this in a deep bass rumble, with hints of hidden pain and terror. Marius cracked open his eyes and saw the towering form of the Tauran Adept bending over him.

“Unfortunately, we do not have the time to indulge ourselves right now. You will bring him with us,” said Shan, an evil grin splitting his face, “but before we leave, I have something for him, a taster shall we say…”

A huge gauntleted hand moved to cover Marius’ face, the contact cold and clammy. After a moment he felt a liquid touch running towards his now tightly closed eyelids. Whatever it was would not be stopped, and the liquid seeped through, burning his eyeballs and bringing a terrible scream to his throat. The pain was excruciating; infiltrating his body violently, driving like sharp spikes further into his skull. He prayed, his teeth clenched against the pain, and felt a response, a burst of energy. Just enough to bolster his weakening defenses and stop the onward push of the demon-induced infection. It was not beaten, only held at bay, its tendrils now dispersing throughout his weakened body; although his brain, his soul remained intact.

“Look!” laughed Shan, pointing at the changes to Marius’ face and body, “He receives our Lord’s blessing and will follow us willingly. I do feel some resistance, still, but no matter we will deal with that when we have more time. Let’s move!”

Utterly subservient, his remaining force of Immortals and zombies, followed him, Marius dragged along behind, his body twisting and bubbling under the onslaught of the demon-blessed disease. Although outwardly, he was now one of them, inwardly, at the very core of his being he continued his struggle, holding onto the thought of Walters and the rescue, he knew would eventually come.

*

Split and broken bodies lay all around Viker; their heads separated and crushed, the undead never to rise again. Chest heaving, Viker looked down on the crumbled form below him, clad in a Church uniform. He had been mistaken, this was not the one he had been tasked in saving. It had been no decoy, the Tauran forces could not have known of his objective, no it was a simple mistake and the responsibility was totally his.

His enhanced hearing picked up the arrival of his squad and he turned to face them, recognising the thinly veiled terror in some of their eyes. He ignored it, they would, if they were worthy, also receive their Lord’s blessing in time.

Johns came forward, delicately stepping around the rotting body parts, approaching Viker.

“It is not him!” growled Viker, kicking at the body with one foot, “he is still out there somewhere.”

“We’ll find him, son,” responded the non-com, “of that you can be sure.”

“You did not change?” asked Viker, seeing Johns still in his human form.

“No,” replied Johns, “I needed to stay in control and guide the squad, no matter how much I wanted to join you. There will be time enough for that, later.”

Viker raised his head and sniffed, tasting the air, “We must move!” he barked, “They are close to the city and I smell something of our target. Strange though, it is not quite him, it’s tainted somehow.”

“We will clarify everything once we get there,” and then turning to the rest of the waiting squad, “Let’s get going, we still have a job to do!” he roared.

Although he took the lead, this time Viker did not race ahead, they would need all of their forces intact once they reached the city, of that he was sure.

High Orbit
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Arn chuckled as he saw the drop pods deploying from the Spiteful Dawn, you could always count on Berbatov to find a way. His penchant for fun was well known, and his idea of enjoyment was simple and direct. Fighting and killing, in his Lord’s name of course, were two of the foundations of his reason for being.

Surveying the remaining Tauran vessels, he saw little in the way of threat. It appeared that they were content to wait for further instructions, but Arn himself had other plans.

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Shan halted his party on the outskirts of the city, studying the darkened and recessed buildings amidst the rubble and destruction. He could feel the pull from the central tower where his prize awaited him, yet he was reticent, in an almost childish way frightened of the dark before him and what it might hide. Cursing at his own foolishness, he strode ahead, the thump, drag of his undead followers echoing off the walls around them.

They stopped once more, abruptly, as an almighty howl reached them. Shan recognised the call of a hunting beast to the rest of its pack, someone or something was close and they needed to hurry. Even so he hesitated, subconsciously waiting for something, and then he had it, as other howls were heard, transmitting their own hunger and anticipation of the kill.

The Tauran leader urged on his followers, he himself picking up the inert Marius’ form and slinging it across his shoulders, before breaking into a shambling run.

*

Magos was confused, he was hearing voices, something that perhaps had occurred to him before during his own isolation, but never with such clarity, nor a barely concealed feral undertone. Due to his nature, he loved control, and he was definitely now not in control of his body or even his own thoughts. His rapid descent halted and he hovered, trying desperately to understand what was happening.

“Feeling a little uncomfortable, are we?” said the voice, interrupting his febrile thoughts.

“W-who are you?” asked the egotistical being, fear vibrating in his own voice.

“Ah, well we’ll come to that in a moment,” replied the voice dismissively, “however, right now we need to get one thing straight! I’m just a little bit upset with your behaviour, this killing of my people has to stop. If you agree, like a good boy, to behave, I might just let you live, if not…”

“You do not dictate to Magos!” was his roared reply, his limbs once more struggling titanically.

“Oh dear,” came the calm yet disappointed reply, “I somehow knew that would be your response.”

Once more, Magos, felt the possession of his body begin and there was nothing that he could do. His right articulated limb, turned back upon itself, the open muzzle of the Gauss rifle situating itself ominously in front of his control room. Power began to build and he knew what would follow.

At the last moment, the arm twitched and the super accelerated slug slammed into his shoulder mounted missile launchers, exploding them off the construct and tearing tonnes of armour away with its passing. There was no pain as such, only a deep sense of loss, as connections were separated irrevocably.

“Ooops!” came the voice once more, a deep chuckle accompanying the comment, “Let’s try that again shall we?”

The arm moved slightly, positioning itself centrally and Magos tried desperately to assume a semblance of control as the induction field resolutely charged the next shot.

*

Viker heard the howls too, they had a hooted overtone and belonged to none of his brothers. He itched to break free of his slower comrades, but would not do so. It appeared that there was something else out there, and by the repeated calls more than one of them. Hunger played through the voices, that and the pack nature of their calling restrained him. It was obvious that Johns had noticed it too and Viker sensed the moment when he gave free reign to the beast inside him. This was going to be bad and Viker dropped back, to stand beside the now transforming Johns.

*

Nothing they could do slowed the plague-driven Tauran forces, their numbers swelling as fallen soldiers were reanimated. James and a fighting core of men had fallen back onto the staging area, where a ring of tanks waited. The roar of their battle cannons was ceaseless, obliterating the undead, the only way they could effectively reduce their opponents’ numbers.

It was then that the dripping and cursed drop pods screamed to the earth, boring into the ground with their terminal velocity enriched speed. The usual disregard for their minions was apparent, as the pods flattened zombies and crushed Immortals equally.

Major James raised his voice in prayer, he knew that this was going to tip the balance of the battle, and not in their favour. Pods began to deploy their contents and he ordered the tanks to advance, his wavering men following.

A familiar roar came from the middle of the Tauran ranks and James slapped the side of his helmet, in an attempt to clear his head of its obvious delusion. Then it came again, “What are you waiting for, Jimmy?” barked the voice loudly in his ear via his private circuit, “You’re going to miss all the fun!”

*

Marius’ tortured body awoke and with it came the realisation of his own torment. His skin writhed beneath the onslaught of the virulent disease; warts, boils and sores formed, died and reformed. An unending fire traced across his nerve endings as flesh liquified and bubbled. No longer limply held by Shan, he struggled madly to be free yet the Tauran Adept held him tight, enjoying the sounds of pain screeching in his ear.

Deep within him, he was still Marius and struggled to remain so, holding on to his faith in Walters. Each new attack of the rancid virus was repulsed and he maintained his self, yet the cost was terrible. Outwardly he was no longer human, his face ran like wax, eyes dripping down his cheeks. There was no sight left and his misshapen mouth moaned in agony.

One massive shudder wracked his frame and he slipped out of Shan’s grasp, as his very bones became porous, then fluid, before hardening once more in a weird parody of the human form.

The Tauran looked down at him, before grunting dismissal and racing once more towards the tower. There was nothing that Marius could do, but lie there, his body pooling on the floor at one moment, then twisting into a mutilated design in another.

His mind raged in frustration and he felt himself connect with something, it was not Walters, but like him in an undefined way. It drew him on, calling to him and in a half drag, half fall, he slithered his way towards it.