Am
I ready to kill?
A
cloud of swirling mist sighed out between Kuneprius’ lips, rising
into the night to smear the glow of the winter moon. He watched it
dissipate, then exhaled another long plume, blowing it out the way
he’d seen the Brothers do when they smoked their pipes filled with
sweetweed. Instead of swirling the wreaths he’d watched them
create, his breath came out a ragged column.
“Shh.”
Kuneprius
cocked his head toward the urgent sound, an apology teetering on the
tip of his tongue. At the last instant, he remembered himself and
said nothing, pressing himself flatter against the side of the hill.
Fildrian lay less than ten man-lengths away, but the Brother’s
black hood and robe hid him in the darkness; despite his proximity,
empty loneliness ached in Kuneprius’ chest.
The
lad grasped the short sword’s hilt tighter, testing its
uncomfortable weight. Though he’d seen the seasons turn but twelve
times, he’d trained with this very sword for six of them. The
temple blacksmith formed it with him in mind, the grip molded to the
shape of his fingers. Its length and weight had proved too much for
him when he first held it, but he’d grown into it, its size ideal
for a boy of his age. He shifted minutely, searching for comfort and
understanding that the prospect of swinging the weapon to wound
rather than in practice caused his unease, not the sword itself.
Will
I be able to wield it when the time comes? Can I kill if I need to?
He’d
never been sent on a hunt, so the sword’s edge hadn’t tasted
blood other than his own when he got clumsy or distracted while
sharpening the blade. He shifted his grip on the leather-wrapped
hilt, hand slipping with the slickness of the sweat on his palm. For
so many seasons, he’d trained for this moment; he knew he’d kill
if the need arose.
I
hope it doesn’t.
The
rattle-clunk of wooden wheels on dirt track rolled along the shallow
valley and up the hill to Kuneprius’ ears. Soon, he’d need wonder
no more.
The
apprentice angled his head to peer down the weed-clogged road,
squinting as he attempted to pick out the wagons in the darkness. The
lanterns hanging at the front of each, bobbing and swinging with the
horses’ gaits, made it easy. He counted them silently.
One,
two, three…four?
His
heart lurched. Brother Fildrian had said to expect three—two carts
and a covered wagon. Kuneprius’ gaze flickered to the spot where he
expected to find the expedition leader’s dark shape, but he saw
nothing. He glanced back to the track, the horse-drawn vehicles
drawing closer and, in the glow of their lanterns, he counted two
covered wagons.
Which
one?
The second volume in Bruce Blake's Small Gods series is now out. The Darkness Comes picks up where When Shadows Fall leaves off. 
Am
I ready to kill?
A
cloud of swirling mist sighed out between Kuneprius’ lips, rising
into the night to smear the glow of the winter moon. He watched it
dissipate, then exhaled another long plume, blowing it out the way
he’d seen the Brothers do when they smoked their pipes filled with
sweetweed. Instead of swirling the wreaths he’d watched them
create, his breath came out a ragged column.
“Shh.”
Kuneprius
cocked his head toward the urgent sound, an apology teetering on the
tip of his tongue. At the last instant, he remembered himself and
said nothing, pressing himself flatter against the side of the hill.
Fildrian lay less than ten man-lengths away, but the Brother’s
black hood and robe hid him in the darkness; despite his proximity,
empty loneliness ached in Kuneprius’ chest.
The
lad grasped the short sword’s hilt tighter, testing its
uncomfortable weight. Though he’d seen the seasons turn but twelve
times, he’d trained with this very sword for six of them. The
temple blacksmith formed it with him in mind, the grip molded to the
shape of his fingers. Its length and weight had proved too much for
him when he first held it, but he’d grown into it, its size ideal
for a boy of his age. He shifted minutely, searching for comfort and
understanding that the prospect of swinging the weapon to wound
rather than in practice caused his unease, not the sword itself.
Will
I be able to wield it when the time comes? Can I kill if I need to?
He’d
never been sent on a hunt, so the sword’s edge hadn’t tasted
blood other than his own when he got clumsy or distracted while
sharpening the blade. He shifted his grip on the leather-wrapped
hilt, hand slipping with the slickness of the sweat on his palm. For
so many seasons, he’d trained for this moment; he knew he’d kill
if the need arose.
I
hope it doesn’t.
The
rattle-clunk of wooden wheels on dirt track rolled along the shallow
valley and up the hill to Kuneprius’ ears. Soon, he’d need wonder
no more.
The
apprentice angled his head to peer down the weed-clogged road,
squinting as he attempted to pick out the wagons in the darkness. The
lanterns hanging at the front of each, bobbing and swinging with the
horses’ gaits, made it easy. He counted them silently.
One,
two, three…four?
His
heart lurched. Brother Fildrian had said to expect three—two carts
and a covered wagon. Kuneprius’ gaze flickered to the spot where he
expected to find the expedition leader’s dark shape, but he saw
nothing. He glanced back to the track, the horse-drawn vehicles
drawing closer and, in the glow of their lanterns, he counted two
covered wagons.
Which
one?
What's it about?
When
shadows fall, the darkness comes...
A disgraced Goddess Mother wanders blind and alone, praying for her agony to end. When a helpful apostle finds her, could it truly by salvation, or does worse torment lie ahead? A sister struggles to understand a prophecy that may not be meant for her while her brother fights for his life. If the firstborn child of the rightful king dies, will it spell the end for everyone? Darkness and shadow creep across the land in the form of a fierce clay golem animated by its sculptor's blood. It seeks a mythical creature who's sacrifice portends the return of ancient evil banished from the world long ago. With its return will come the fall of man. As the game unfolds, the Small Gods watch from the sky, waiting for their time to come and their chance to rise again. They wait for the fall of shadows, the coming of the darkness. They wait for night to descend.
Now that you've read the sample, get the book from your choice of vendors.
The Darkness Comes:
Kindle: http://viewBook.at/darknesscomes
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/391730
B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-darkness-comes-bruce-blake/1117886146But before you read the second book in the Small Gods series, you have to read the first. When Shadows Fall is on sale for 99 cents for the rest of the week.
Kindle: http://viewBook.at/shadows
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/362347
"... this is some great storytelling. .. It’s positively addicting!" — Ms. Nose in a Book, reviewer
Sounds like a great tale - thanks for posting!
ReplyDeletewOw! Sounds amazing! Great teaser!
ReplyDelete