by TR Cameron
The man’s hand, which had crept behind his back, circled forward in an arc and darts flew at Kraada. He spun toward his desk, trusting his undercoat to protect him. “You’ll have to do better than that, and quickly I would expect. Surely the rest of my guards will soon realize something is afoot.”
Interposing himself between Kraada and his goal yet again, Phraan reached under and pulled free the blade hidden there. He vaulted the desk, then dropped into a low fighting crouch with the knife pointed forward in his left hand and Kraada’s dagger reversed along his right forearm, his weight balanced.
“Is this where I’m supposed to spill out all the details of my plan to you, Hierarch, while we wait for your guards to come? Hardly. But I will send you to the afterlife with one small piece of knowledge. Your guards are dead, poisoned. Your attendants are dead, slaughtered by my compatriots down to the last one. Even your servants are dead by now as my men are sweeping through the cathedral to kill them. Soon you, too, will be no more.”
Kraada couldn’t hide the dismay that flickered across his features, then schooled them, sinking his mind into the discipline he’d learned as a young monk. The mantra was to eliminate conscious thought, to become pure response, to let the gods’ will flow through you. He spread his arms wide, his wings extending with them, and took a deep breath.
“Then finish it, coward, or do you need to wait for others to do your work for you?” His opponent moved before Kraada finished, circling an overhand thrust from the dagger on the left. Kraada pivoted on his left foot, bringing his right arm in a circle to block, his vambrace pushing the other man’s arm aside. The move left his torso open for just a moment, and his foe sliced the other blade across his midsection, twirling away and leaving Kraada staggering.
He pressed his hand to his side, gathering up his robe and pressing inward. Kraada moved with less confidence now, seeking safety behind his desk only to be cut off again. He darted toward the door, and his opponent mocked him as he blocked that as well, angling to trap Kraada in a corner and creeping ever closer.
He grabbed a statue on a nearby table, hurling it at his opponent’s head. The man knocked it aside, the left-hand dagger snaking out to redirect it. As he came in, Phraan whirled his blades in a complicated pattern that was almost too fast to follow, a hallmark of one of the Xroeshyn martial disciplines that Kraada recognized but hadn’t trained in.
He wondered briefly if he’d have time to rectify that, and then the man was moving on him again, that left dagger seeking his heart as the right-hand blade descended toward his head.
To Kraada, now rooted in his mental discipline, the attack seemed to progress in slow motion. He released his robe, revealing the rent fabric and the scrape along the gleaming metal underneath. His right hand came up swinging from outside to deflect the left-hand knife as he spun, momentarily back-to-back with his enemy. His elbow whipped through above shoulder height, connecting with his enemy’s skull as he finished his turn. He arrested his momentum and reversed course, pivoting and grabbing his opponent’s wrist with his leading hand. His other connected with the hilt of the weapon, supporting it as he twisted and stabbed the blade into his former seneschal’s abdomen. It pierced clothing, and another push sent it through his armor. Stepping back and letting go of the man, Kraada delivered a vicious kick to the base of the knife, driving it into him all the way to its hilt. The man staggered back to lean against the wall.
The disbelief on the man’s face was delicious, and Kraada savored it. “You haven’t been training long enough to learn the deepest disciplines, traitor. She who we do not name will welcome you, and she will teach you all the things you do not know, one unfathomable moment of torment after the next. When our ancestors are delivered to paradise, you will still be hers, suffering the eternal punishment that is the lot of the betrayer.”
He slid the heavy bar down across the door, blocking access to the man’s compatriots in the cathedral. He walked past his enemy, easily dodging his halfhearted swipe, the man’s ashen face and the pool of deep blue puddling at his feet showing his fate. With a deft twist, Kraada freed his dagger, avoiding the blood that spurted from the wound. He moved behind his desk and stood regarding his wobbling foe. “Do you think you’re the first? You aren’t even the tenth. Better men and women than you have tried. Every one of you has failed. I ensure that none of the conspirators lives to tell the tale, so the next assassin is no more prepared than the last.”
He sat, reaching down to find a recessed genetic scanner under his desk. Activating it released a panel of the wall revealing a small hallway. Kraada stepped inside, suspecting that his enemy was about to try a final attack. When he returned, his long mace rested comfortingly on one shoulder with the handle nestled in his right hand, and his dagger was ready in his left.
When the man attacked, Kraada feinted with the blade and followed through with an overhead smash of his mace, taking his opponent in the collarbone. Phraan fell to his knees, the arm holding his knife now useless, the blade clattering to the floor. Kraada kicked it aside and knelt beside the man. “I wish for you to spend every last second you have remaining meditating upon the torment that awaits you.” He stood again and smashed each of the man’s feet, ensuring he could no longer walk. Kraada left him and stepped into the hidden hallway, closing and securing the door behind him. A warren of tunnels led to a safe room, where he could summon reinforcements and coordinate reclaiming the cathedral, and from which he could communicate throughout his religious empire.
He reached the small control room and operated the communication console, triggering preset messages to summon his most loyal supporters to a rally point. He composed a longer message to Indraat, informing her of the attempt on his life and requesting the presence of both her and her squadron to deal with the fallout of the battle and the latest attempt on his life. Finally, he sent a message to his senior surviving priest bestowing upon her command of the force that would clear the filth from his cathedral.
That work done, he opened the cabinet set into the wall and retrieved a fine bottle of wine, plates of dried meat and fruit, and a copy of the Dhadas.
A button sparked the fireplace, pushing away the damp. He threw his torn garment aside and sat in a large leather chair, opening the book to the meditations upon his patron goddess. Despite the safety of the room, he kept his weapons nearby.
With his hand flat on the page, he said, “To you, my patron, I make this pledge. Today begins a new chapter in the history of the Xroeshyn. The disease will be cut from our flesh, and the primacy of the gods shall be regained. The trespassers will die, their crime washed clean with their blood. Their lands, their people, their warriors, their everything I sacrifice to you. I, Kraada Tak, Hierarch of the Church of the Xroeshyn, pledge this with my life.”
Eyes closed, book open, he slipped into a restorative trance to await the arrival of his reinforcements, and the dawning of the new day for the Xroeshyn.
This is the end of Defenders. The Chaos Shift Cycle continues in Book 3, Protectors, available November 2017. An exclusive preview is available in the pages that follow.
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The Destroyer Lubyanka. Undefeated. Undefeatable.
Cadets Anderson Cross and Kate Flynn face the ultimate rite of passage: taking on the Lubyanka. Countless others have tried. Countless others have failed. Now it is up to them. Together, they will try to overcome the unbeatable enemy.
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Thom’s Defenders Notes: 24 September 2017
Thank you for buying this book. Thank you for reading this book. Thank you for reading these notes. Seriously. Thank y
ou.
The release of the first book in the series was a wild ride, and the last month has been an adventure. So much learning, some if it by success, some by failure.
My day job is intensive from September through May, and launching back into it this fall has been chaos. My family and friends have been beyond supportive. I am extraordinarily lucky to have them.
The members of my Readers’ Group have also been fantastic, providing feedback and reviews and a constant flow of positivity.
In my downtime, I’ve been really digging the TV version of The Expanse. I really thought Holden was older, though, when I read the books. Casting for Miller, Alex, Naomi, and Amos is flawless. Now its time for Gotham season 3 before heading in to Expanse season 2.
Book 3, Protectors, is still on track for November. It’s got a substantially different vibe than the first two, but rockets along at an even faster pace. I’m hoping 4 and 5 will hit in December and January, and am going to make every effort I can to reach those goals.
I encourage you to join the readers’ group - the link is in the section before this one. Suicide Run is big fun, and I hope to provide more exclusive content and opportunities to those who join me for the rest of this adventure.
Please, please, please: if you enjoyed this book, or enjoyed Trespassers, would you help me out? Leaving a quick review of either or both on Amazon can literally mean the difference between success or failure of the series. Here are the links:
Review Defenders | Review Trespassers
Finally, I’d love to connect with you! You can find me on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to mention me on Twitter to catch my attention - that feed goes by ludicrously quickly.
As before, and as always: Peace, Joy, and Good Fortune to you - So may it be. TRC.
Exclusive Protectors Preview
The edge on the blade gleamed as it cut through the blue sky, descending effortlessly, seeking to cleave his head from his body. Only a last-minute shift of his weight brought the heavy mace around in time to deflect the sword, and an immediate jump backward avoided the stomping kick that followed it.
Within the lines of eight, Kraada Tak and Drovaa Jat circled, occasionally darting in to trade blows, testing one another. It was a beautiful day, and the surrounding crowds basked in the sun, cheering on their chosen champion as the opponents fought under the emperor’s watchful gaze. Blood from one of them would darken the already azure-stained soil before day’s end. The outdoor combat arena at the palace felt heavy, as if laden with the furious spirits of those who had lost their lives in the countless battles within its boundaries.
Kraada stepped forward, swinging his weapon at chest height in a spinning attack that carried him quickly toward his opponent. A quick tap on his vambrace by Drovaa’s sword redirected the blow, and Kraada finished the spin with a withdrawal into a defensive crouch. His enemy didn’t pursue him. Instead Drovaa weaved his hand-and-a-half sword through a complicated set of movements.
Kraada rested the mace on his shoulder and regarded the marshal. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just surrender, Jat?”
Drovaa spread his wings wide, raising his blade into a classic offensive position over his left shoulder. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather, Tak?”
Neither man rose to the bait, and Drovaa dashed forward in a straight attack, a chop along the diagonal from upper left to lower right that Kraada just barely avoided with a back step and twist. To waste energy would be to lose the battle, and both were experienced enough not to do so.
Kraada swirled his mace around its balance point, near the head, making lazy figure eights in space before him. Longer than his preferred weapon, this version had the length to defend against Drovaa’s giant sword. Both men had secondary and tertiary weapons behind them, ready in the hands of their seconds.
“You overstepped when you attacked Indraat, and when you killed everyone in the cathedral, Marshal.”
Drovaa shrugged. “So you say, Kraada. Had I waited but a month longer, I would’ve been defending myself against your own attack. Don’t deny it.”
He heard vague cheers from the crowd as the two men declined to engage, conversing instead, but they were filtered through a haze of irrelevance. He understood that the pivotal moment of his existence was now. This would be when his trajectory would settle onto its final path, when he would begin the unification of the Xroeshyn people as it was meant to be. All he had to do was to defeat his old friend, adding his blood to the arena floor.
Book 3 of the Chaos Shift Cycle is available for preorder! Preorder Protectors at Amazon.com!
Acknowledgments
Family, friends, and coworkers: thank you for bearing with me during this process. You are appreciated.
Most memorable comment, from Todd: “It really needed a raccoon.” It’s still good to know that I can always count on my friends for support.
Editing: Tracey and Charlotte, you do great work.
Cover: Deranged Doctor Designs, who have been fantastic at dealing with a clueless new author.
Parting comment from my daughter (oh, how things change in a month):
Dylan: “Is your book about space?”
Me: “Yes.”
Dylan: “Once I learn how to read I might read your book. I like space.”
Again, Thanks Kid.
About the Author
TR Cameron is an emerging author of Science Fiction Adventure. By day, he teaches things to people. By night, he writes and edits and does what it takes to be a decent partner and parent.
Once upon a time, he played World of Warcraft far too much, and remembers the days when Molten Core was everything. When he finds time to play now, story-heavy games are always at the top of his list. He’s still slogging through Dishonored2 at the time of publication.
His personal favorite authors range from Douglas Adams to David Weber, Anne Bishop to Jacqueline Carey to CJ Cherryh, Matthew Woodring Stover to Stephen R. Donaldson.
You can find him here:
www.trcameron.com
[email protected]
Also by TR Cameron
The Chaos Shift Cycle:
Trespassers
Defenders
Protectors (Preorder here - Forthcoming November 2017)
Deliverers (Forthcoming)
Victors (Forthcoming)
The Suicide Run - Readers’ Group Exclusive (Stories from the Chaos Shift Cycle 1)
This book (Defenders) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination.
Copyright © 2017 by TR Cameron
Cover copyright © 2017 by TR Cameron
All rights reserved, because piracy sucks. Unless it’s space pirates. Space pirates are awesome.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The Chaos Shift Cycle and all that happens within it are copyright 2017 by TR Cameron.