SAMPLE CHAPTER - BOOK 2 - CHAPTER ONE

The released of Liars and Thieves is just around the corner, as is the Re-Release (Special Edition) of Fathers and Sons! Because I'm a really nice guy, I've decided to post a few sample chapters to wet your whistle. (Which is sort of a gross saying, but whatever.)

I figured it best to start with Chapter One.

Enjoy!

1. Traitor to the Cause

“Tell me what you’ve done with it, and I will consider sparing your life.”

For him, time ceased to have meaning long ago. How many days had he spent shackled in the king’s dungeon? Could it be weeks? Months even? Long enough that the heavy chains around his ankles sliced into his skin, merging with the muscle underneath and forcing the flesh to heal grotesquely around them. How often was he dragged from his cell and beaten? How many times had he teetered through a wobbly haze, barely conscious on the razor-thin line between life and death? Two hundred? Three hundred? Maybe four? His body no longer resembled the one he’d spent a lifetime becoming familiar with. Quite adept in the dealing of punishment, the guard’s fists had changed him into something else. Like a reflection in a broken mirror, he was shattered, distorted, and barely recognizable. Busted numerous times, his jaw dangled from his face, useless. All but a few of his teeth had been removed — some ripped out during hour-long torture sessions, others knocked loose during any one of the regular beatings. His skin, once a healthy dark green, had become a disgusting, blotchy mess of purples, blues, and deep grayish-blacks. Even the most minute of movements on his part brought forth worlds of agony. The gentle breeze from a window nearby instantly reduced him to tears. His limbs had long since ceased functioning, devolving his form a million years and making upright movement impossible. Having suffered through things no creature should ever be forced to feel, he found himself crumpled in a garish heap at the feet of the massive, stone-faced tyrant king of Ocha. A small part of him wondered if he’d made the right choice. This pain could have been avoided. He brought this on himself.

Gently nudging the broken, tangled body of the creature sprawled before him, the massive king sighed deeply. “How sad it is to see you like this, Krystoph. I had such high hopes for you. You were so very talented in the art of killing … so frighteningly, wonderfully talented. There was a time, not too long ago, when my opinion of you approached admiration.”

Shaking his head while flashing a disgusted look at the broken lump, the king turned swiftly, pacing back to his throne before reclining with yet another heavy sigh. “I gave you everything, and what did you offer in return — deceit, lies, and thievery? You’ve shamed your king. You’ve shamed your country and all those calling it home. You’ve shamed yourself.”

His ears smashed and barely of use, the broken lump of flesh that once answered to the name Krystoph was able only to make out half the king’s words, and even they seemed distant and jumbled. Despite this fact, his clouded brain managed to put the pieces together well enough to get a general idea of the point the ruler of Ocha was trying to make. Doing his best to ignore the unbelievable amount of pain shooting through every centimeter of his body, Krystoph lifted his weary, half-conscious face with a shaky defiance to the creature he once admired beyond all others.

While using a hand consisting mostly of broken fingers to hold his jaw in place, he grumbled, “Y-you … ki-killed m-my … my … family.”

Quietly the tyrant King Kragamel chuckled. “You are mistaken old friend. Long ago you gave you life to me, and in return I allowed you the privilege of serving as a general in the greatest army the world has ever known and will ever know. In doing so, your family became my family. You see, unlike what you’ve stolen from me, their lives were mine to do with as I pleased. They were mine to kill.”

In direct response to the words, Kristoph’s distorted excuse for a body lurched forward angrily. His broken legs awkwardly thrust the mass of wrecked bones and torn muscles in the king’s direction. Something more a guttural noise than a fully imagined word rose up from his belly, exploding from his mouth like searing magma. Despite the fact that his fingers had been shattered beyond the point of usefulness, Krystoph reached for the king’s foot, clawing at his thick leather boot. The rabid, snarling growl did little to frighten Kragamel though. His expression remained stoic. Many times in the past Kristoph had proven the most capable, the most willing, and the most vicious soldier his army ever produced. The snarling, sniveling mass of bloody flesh kneeling before him now – this was not Krystoph. Nothing remained of Ochas’s most feared general, and the revolting thing he’d become was of no threat. Placing his foot on top of Krystoph’s head, the king easily shoved the broken lump of flesh away as two beefy guards rushed in, pulling Krystoph further still from Ocha’s benevolent leader. The flow of adrenaline having passed, Krystoph began at last to feel the result of his outburst. His body was in no shape for such an act. Now he found himself struggling not only to reclaim his escaping breath but also to deal with the flashes of deep, searing pain tearing him apart from within.

“I will give you one more chance old friend.” The king offered sternly from atop his throne. “Tell me where you’ve hidden it. End this nonsense. You know I will locate it eventually; you will have suffered for nothing. Why take your misguided hatred for me out on the Ochan race? Should this great nation suffer because of your random loss of common sense? Tell me where it is … tell me where it is and this all comes to an end. Tell me where it is, and I assure you I will make your death quick and painless.”

Though one of his lungs was punctured months ago, Krystoph breathed in deeply, managing to momentarily gain control of the pain pouring over him like molten steel. His brain was on fire, his head on the brink of an explosion. Grimacing through eyes drowning in blood, he attempted for the first time in weeks to pull his twisted, mangled body upright. Seeing this, the two guards hovering nearby immediately moved close and shoved him back to the floor. With a flip of his wrist and a slight gesture of his fingers, King Kragamel ordered them to stand down. Managing successfully to maneuver himself to one knee, Krystoph bit down on his lower lip with the few reaming teeth in his mouth and grunted deeply, eventually hoisting his tattered, starved, frail body upward. Teetering atop wobbly, useless legs, he raised his shaky head, staring defiantly into the eyes of Ocha’s most feared king.

With a voice of whispered rage he choked out only a single word, “No.”

Overcome with the undeniable urge to rip the head from his former general’s shoulders and place it on a pike in the center of the castle courtyard for all to see, the king instead shoved his emotions down, successfully centering his rapidly expanding rage.

Krystoph would have loved nothing more than to see him frazzled, and because of this, frazzled was by no means an option. Calmly looking past Krystoph’s unsteady form, Kragamel called out to the back of the room: “Gragor!”

From the opposite side of the massive throne room, the then newly-appointed, still young, fresh, and anxious to please general of the king’s armies moved across the floor in long, determined strides. Stopping alongside Krystoph, the massive Ochan dropped to a knee, bowing his head in reverence of his king. “Yes sire?”

“We could torture this traitor until the end of our days, and it is unlikely he will ever tell us what we need to know; he has been trained too well. He has outworn his usefulness. I shall waste no more time on him. I want you personally to take him to the fire caves, open his throat, and watch the life bleed from his sad excuse for body. Do not burn his corpse though … let the combustion beetles make a meal of him instead. This fool is undeserving of a proper torching.”

Though barely noticeable to most in the room, Gragor grinned ever so slightly. “Of course sire. Consider it done.”

Still wobbling, his body shaking violently as a jolt of pain traveled up his spine, Krystoph managed to remain standing, his steely gaze never once moving from the king. Even after hearing the words from Kragamel’s mouth, at no point would his expression falter.

The king would have loved nothing more than to see him weakened and because of this weakness was simply not an option.

Gragor locked his muscular arms around Krystoph’s torso, tugging his busted, useless form backward across the cold stone floor. From his throne the tyrant king of Ocha watched intently until his former general was pulled from sight. He allowed himself only a moment to dwell on his choice before moving to the next order of business. The king had ordered many to die during his tenure. Krystoph was no different than any of the others.

Once dead they are gone and once gone they never come back – this was the way of things.

FORTS SAMPLE CHAPTER - Slaughter of the Innocents

Because I'm a nice guy I've decided to toss another sample chapter your way. If you haven't yet purchased book one, what exactly are you waiting for?

Get your butt in gear.

Don't make me tell you again, or else I might just have to tell you a third time - in a far sterner tone.

You don't want that and neither do I.






The pale-skinned children from the hundredth world brought with them an infectious feeling of possibility that permeated the streets of Tipoloo. It slid under every doorway, through every crack, into every home, and filled the city’s inhabitants with a wonderful, warm feeling to which they were not accustomed. This was an odd feeling, a new feeling, a beautifully strange feeling that some of the younger children, those who had been born inside the city walls, had never felt. On every corner of every street, large groups of vastly different species talked amongst themselves, hopeful smiles spread across their tired, beaten, war torn faces.
It appeared as if the prophecy was more than just words. It had turned to flesh and blood. It was real, and could put an end to the incredible hardship they had come to know as simply being alive.
As Zanell turned the corner on her way to her grandfather’s dwelling, she passed a family of Huerzo Snubs outside of a tiny dwelling cut into a section of the city’s earthen walls. In many ways, the four foot tall Huerzo Snubs resembled ladybugs. Their enormous oval shaped bodies seeming impossibly large for their spindly legs, and yet they managed to move with an inspiring gracefulness. This was mostly due to the aid of a pair of nearly transparent wings attached to their backs that constantly flapped, enabling them to maintain their balance. The mother Huerzo sat quietly on a rock outside of her dwelling watching her two young children playfully wrestle in the street a few feet away. Each time one of the children was knocked over it rolled through the dirt like a marble on a sidewalk, its tiny legs flailing wildly in the air. As Zanell passed, the mother Huerzo looked up at her, smiling a timid smile in a way only a Huerzo could do justice. Zanell hadn’t seen a smile of this nature on her face in a very long time, not since her mate was captured a few years back above ground while searching for food with a gathering party.
The tiny bit of happiness in the mother Huerzo’s expression momentarily warmed Zanell on the inside. How uncommon, how truly wonderful and uncommon. This was exactly what the boys’ appearance brought to Tipoloo. This was exactly what Tipoloo needed.
Zanell noticed similar smiles all day long. In fact, the smile of the mother Huerzo became the rule rather than the exception. A small group of four or five Ricardian children passed by Zanell. She could overhear them whispering to each other about the way Tommy Jarvis blasted a massive hole in the city’s wall just a couple of days earlier.
“I heard that he blew a hole in the wall, and vaporized four of the king’s guards with it!”
“Shut up…that’s not what happened…it was seven of the king’s guards! Afterward he opened up another hole in the ceiling and flew off into the forest. I think he’s on his way to take on Kragamel one-on-one!”
“Now you’re the one who needs to shut up. He can’t fly!”
“Can, too! I saw it with my own eyes!”
“You didn’t see anything, liar. You were with me when it happened!”
“Well…whatever happened, I know that crusty old king is in for a serious beating when Tommy and Pleebo get hold of him!”
Ricardians were well known as a race of wonderful storytellers, and wonderful exaggerators. Ricardian children, on the other hand, were known to take exaggeration to unbelievable levels. Zanell smiled slightly, laughing a bit on the inside at the sweet, overzealous innocence in their words. At the same time she couldn’t really blame them, because she felt it, too. She believed in her grandfather, she believed in the prophecy, and because of this she believed in the possibility that Tommy, Donald and the others might be the catalyst that ushered in a bright new world. Hidden deep beneath her hopefulness, though, she was worried about her older brother. Zanell had never been away from him for more than a day, and she already missed having him around. From the day their mother died, Pleebo was more than just a brother to her. In many ways he was her parent, and even more importantly her best friend. If anything happened to him – well, she simply wouldn’t have any idea what to do with herself.
If only her grandfather had let her go with them, then she could watch him. Then she could keep an eye on him and make sure he was safe.
Zanell opened the door to her grandfather’s dwelling, stepped inside and closed it gently so as not to frighten him. “Grandfather?”
She set a bowl of Fluto root she had brought on a small table nearby, along with a goblet of water. The room was dark, the air stuffy and stale. It smelled of age and experience and knowledge. From his bed in the corner of the room, the elder’s tired, creaky body pushed and pulled itself slowly into a sitting position. Each of the ancient creature’s joints cracked and popped.
Zanell quickly made her way to his side, and helped him sit fully upright. “You need to eat, Grandfather. I’ve brought you some dinner…Fluto root…your favorite. I even mashed it up for you so you wouldn’t have any problems getting it down.”
“Thank you, Zanell,” the old creature said as he finally straightened up.
Once she was convinced he wouldn’t immediately tip over, Zanell turned back to the mashed Fluto root on the opposite end of the room. The elder reacheed out, grabs her skinny arm and turned her to face him again.
“What is it, Grandfather?”
Reaching up, the old creature touched the side of her face, his eyes half closed, his lips forming a dry, dusty, ancient smile. “Don’t worry about the root, Zanell. Save it for yourself. I won’t need it.”
“What? What are you talking about? Its been too long since you last ate grandfather…you need to keep your strength up.”
With his bony hand, he gently ran his fingers through her stringy white hair. “You look so much like your mother, Zanell. Both you and your brother…you both look so very much like Lanell. I was so proud of her…so proud of the Fillagrou she grew to be. You’ll…. you’ll make me…equally as proud, Zanell. In fact, you already have. I only wish…that I could be alive to see the wonderful things your future will bring…”
Zanell tried to ignore her grandfather’s words. He often complained about his age, regularly making jokes or little comments about how much time he had left to live.
She convinced herself that this was exactly what he was doing now. “Shut up, Grandfather…you’re going to be around for a long time. You’re as healthy as a Subertivean Ox.”
The old creature sighed deeply. “Every journey comes to an end Zanell.”
“What are you talking about? You look fine. You’ll eat something, and you’ll feel much better, like always. Stop talking like that.”
Reaching up slowly with both hands, the elder placed them softly on either side of her face.
With a half sad, half contented smile he looked directly into her enormous red eyes. “There is a wonderful beauty in endings, Zanell. Were it not for the pain of endings, we would never experience the exquisite hopefulness that can come only with a new beginning.”
Suddenly Zanell no longer thought her grandfather was simply complaining for the sake of complaining. Every crease and wrinkle in his face screamed of stern seriousness. He knew something that she didn’t. A lone tear slipped from her right eye, rolling down the side of her soft, drawn skin. Her thin lips began to quiver as she tried to formulate words. She found only the sound of her increased breathing.
Pulling her forward, her grandfather kissed her gently on the forehead. “I need you to run, Zanell. I need you to run to the southern passage and keep running until you’ve entered the forest. I need you to do this right now, my dear.”
“Grandfather…I…I don…why?”
“Have faith in my words…this one last time. Go…go and don’t look back.”
Almost on cue, the ground beneath Zanell’s feet shook violently, sending her careening into a nearby wall. A few seconds latr the ground shook again – this time even more aggressively. The blue burning candle in the corner of her grandfather’s dwelling tipped over, and fell into the dirt, smothered into oblivion. Zanell forced herself back to her feet, and quickly rushed to her grandfather.
Wrapping her arms underneath him, she tried to lift him from his bed. “SOMETHING’S WRONG, GRANDFATHER! COME ON, WE HAVE TO GO!”
The elder’s body flopped around like a heavy, useless rag doll. Even if the ancient creature had desired to move there was no way he could ever hope to run. To escape what was coming was not his fate, and he knew this.
Using what little strength remained in his tired body, he pushed Zanell away from him. “No! I can’t go anywhere, Zanell! This is exactly where I’m supposed to be. You have to trust me! You have to run, now!”
Zanell wiped away the torrent of tears flowing from her face as the ground rumbled yet again. This time thick chunks of dirt fell from the ceiling. “NO! I WON’T LEAVE YOU! I CAN’T!”
Again she reached out for her grandfather, and again the old creature pushed her back. Suddenly the city shook with such incredible force that it sent her falling backward, slamming against the creaky wooden door. Massive amounts of dirt and stone came loose and fell from the ceiling. A few of the larger chunks hit her on the top of the head.
The entire room was covered in a thick brown mist. “GRANDFATHER!”
From somewhere inside the cloud of dirt came the elder’s far away voice. “RUN, ZANELL! TO THE SOUTHERN PASSAGE! GO NOW!”
As she attempted to stand, another violent shaking caused Zanell to roll backwards through the door and out into the street. Everywhere around her the inhabitants of Tipoloo were frightened and screaming, scattering in every direction without rhyme or reason. Some seemed to be looking for shelter, some for family and some for weapons. Near the end of the street the ceiling collapsed inward viciously, as if a bomb had been set off somewhere above. The head of an enormous gray beast blasted through the earth and slammed to the city floor, chomping away every ounce of soil in its path with its massive open mouth. It swallowed the dirt it had just torn away, shook its head from side to side wildly, and pounded against either side of the street in the process. The massive cranium maneuvered itself parallel to the ground, blowing the excess dirt and sand from its nose. Opening its gigantic mouth, the terrifying thing let out a growl so ear piercingly loud that the entire street vibrated. Zanell immediately covered her ears, her body now scooting backward across the ground, away from the growling, monstrous beast. As quickly as the enormous head arrived, it shot back into the sky leaving a gaping hole in its wake that led into the forest. The city of Tipoloo looked like a war zone. Mounds of dirt and rock continued to fall from the ceiling high above the street. Clouds of grainy, thick sand rose up around Zanell. It made it nearly impossible for her to make out anything that was more than three feet away. More crashes, shakes, and noises rose up from inside the destructive cloud. No doubt these sounds were the result of other massive holes opened up by equally angry beasts at various other points throughout the city. The incredible amount of noise drowned out the horrified voices of the city’s inhabitants, making communication of any kind between them no longer a viable option. The sounds, the sights, and the harsh reality of what Zanell was witnessing quickly became too much for her to process. Everything was happening fast. She had seen battle before. She has seen the dead and injured, but never in Tipoloo, and never on this scale. It all seemed unreal.
She stumbled back to her feet just in time to see armed guards with weapons drawn, repel downward through the incredible hole the creature’s head had opened up. A few of Tipoloo’s inhabitants grabbed clubs or crudely made spears and attempted to engage the guards in armed combat. They were no match for the well trained, massive bodied, angry and determined soldiers.
Everywhere around Zanell, their forms partially obscured by the clouds of dirt and dust, innocents were being slaughtered.
With deadly precision, without regret or remorse, the Ochan army was doing exactly what they were trained to do. They were killing everything. The city of Tipoloo had been the single stain on the legacy of their people for years – an embarrassment to the glory of the empire. Now, with the chance to take care of that which had eluded them for so may years, they were assuredly making the most of the opportunity.
Zanell’s tears were thick with sand and soot. When she wiped them, it smeared across her already dirty face, sticking to her skin in clumps. She looked in the direction of her grandfathers dwelling. It was now totally obscured by the smoky madness that had engulfed the city.
Softly through her shivering lips she whispered, “I love you” to her grandfather and turned and ran toward the southern passage as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. Behind her, nearly everything she had ever known and loved - died.