Next, I would be nowhere without my family, my wonderful beta readers, and my invaluable online writer’s group. And a special shout out and great thanks to my good and wonderful friend and writer, Tracey.
If you have not read Book One of Mergeworld, however unlikely that might be, please enjoy this teaser by Mason Elliott and Garan R. R. Faraday. Available now! Here is the Amazon purchase link:
http://amzn.to/1uboBDC
1
David Pritchard woke up gasping from one nightmare and went straight into another. A terrible agony tore through him as if the universe twisted him inside out.
Then he snapped back again.
What in damnation had just happened? Something…was very wrong.
Startled, groggy, it only took an instant for his bleary mind to figure out.
Flames engulfed the front of his college apartment building. The stench of smoke, screams, and breaking glass outside only confirmed it.
He was dazed and blinked his scratchy eyes. The first thing he instinctively reached out for was the framed picture of his dead parents.
That was the last picture he had of them from a few years back, right after he started college in South Bend.
They hugged and smiled at each other in medieval garb at the Bristol Renaissance Fair up in Wisconsin. The picture froze both of them happily in time, retired in their forties. Unlike many parents that age, they weren’t divorced and they still loved one another. One of their ren-fair pals took that picture for them on their digital camera.
The same camera retrieved from the car accident on the Illinois highways on their way back home from Bristol. A tractor-trailer jackknifed in the heavy rain and took them away.
The same weekend David begged off going with them.
He blew that picture up in Photoshop, printed out an 8 x 10, and bought a nice oak frame for it. He kept it with him wherever he went. He’d die before he’d part with it, fire or no.
All that history and pain flashed through David as he clutched their picture close to him in the dark. He didn’t even have to see it, just cling to it in his hands. That picture always sat prominently behind his small alarm clock on his night stand with his smart phone and wallet while he slept. That was how he found it, even in the semi-dark. He also grabbed his phone and wallet.
His clock normally flashed bright green. Power outage, probably from the fire. And the back-up battery must have gone dead. Light switches? Nothing, of course, do to the fire.
The growing reek of smoke triggered his desire for self-preservation. Once he got out, he could call his friend Mason Tyler, who lived in a duplex over on Allen Street. His buddy Mace would help him.
Somewhat more awake now, David struggled not to panic. He staggered out of his room like a robot. His lanky, five-eleven frame stumbled down the hall toward his front door. He stubbed his little toe hard in the darkness. A second later he grunted and cursed the sudden blinding spread of pain, but kept moving.
Oh, hell. No way out the front.
Dangerous ribbons of smoke curled violently through the metal front door frame and snaked up across the ceiling like an upside down waterfall. The paint of the metal fire door already bubbled and blistered. David choked and swallowed hard.
If that door had been wood, his entire apartment might have already been completely engulfed. He might not have even come to. He saw no sense in touching the steaming door knob.
The apartment building stairs acted like a natural chimney, funneling the fire and heat straight up.
A window–climb out a window. He was only on the second floor.
His three richer roomies were already off on spring break for the next week, to the Bahamas or some such. Their parents could afford such junkets. David could not.
He suddenly realized two very important things. The fire hadn’t spread to the back part of the apartment building yet.
Next, he was only wearing navy boxers and a gray T-shirt over his shaking frame.
Early April in South Bend, Indiana could be any weather from sun and sixties to a flippin’ blizzard.
Clothes. Only seconds to throw some on. Even in the dim, flickering orange light spilling out of the thick curtains, he spotted his laundry basket on the couch.
The smoke in the living room grew thicker. He put his precious picture, smartphone, and wallet down for only a few moments.
Jeans. On. Socks. On. He snatched up his thick blue, gold, and green hoody from the back of the old couch where he usually left it, and pulled into its soft, warm, comfort. Stocking cap. Popped on his head. Wool scarf. Around the neck. He sat down and jammed on his old gray Nike running shoes, feeling a pair of thin gloves and keys in his hoody pockets still, when he bent over.
Ready to ride, or, at least climb out the back window to escape burning to death.
He stuffed his folks’ picture, wallet, and smartphone into his dark green Jansport backpack with his pad, gel pens, and a few books. He zipped it all up.
To the back window. He pulled the curtains aside and yanked the big panel open.
He jumped slightly, at some guy who already climbed down the back of the building from the third floor. Their eyes locked, only a window screen between them in the dim, pre-dawn light and the cold morning air.
The guy looked utterly terrified.
“Watch out!” he warned, trying to keep his voice low. “Those things are killing people. They’re everywhere!”
“What things?” What was this guy freaking out about?
The guy jolted wide-eyed and then choked.
A bloody iron arrowhead jutted out the front of his throat. In the time it took them both to blink, another arrow punched through the front of his chest, out of his T-shirt. The poor guy’s mouth gaped and worked. Then his eyes rolled up white. He fell backwards, head down.
David grabbed for him, but missed, his hands blocked by the barrier of the screen. He tore it away and stuck his head out the window.
He spotted strange movement down in the darkness.
Two dark, twisted, hunched-over figures loped in on bandy legs and clawed feet wrapped in fur and rags. They were smaller than humans, about four to five feet tall and very skinny and wiry.
Whatever they were, they were definitely not human.
One of them slit the dead guy’s throat from ear to ear with a long, wicked-looking rusty knife.
Blood spurted bright black in the night.
The other creature sniffed the air and snarled up at David with a greenish-black, twisted, inhuman face. Long pointed ears stuck out of holes in its ragged hood. It had a big warty nose, and gleaming green eyes. It gave full draw to the same kind of short, black bow of jagged horn that the other one carried.
The creature took dead aim at David.
And fired.
(Mergeworld, Book One, Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/1uboBDC)
Please enjoy this teaser for Mergeworld, Book 2:
Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/1neuq0x
Mergeworld
Book Two
Amazon Link: http://amzn.to/1neuq0x
by Mason Elliott and Garan R. R Faraday
“Several of the enemy mage prisoners have escaped,” a runner came to warn them. The young trooper looked terrified.
Mason drew his Spillers. They would have to be enough. After the bath, he didn’t have all of his other guns. And there wasn’t time to go after them.
It also worried him that he still felt–off his game, somehow. Something was still very wrong with him, but he couldn’t figure out what. Perhaps that was merely what sorrow and depression felt like.
Blondie shook the terrified runner. “Calm down. Tell me what you know. Which prisoners? How many of them?”
“S-six, six, I think. They tried to free the rest, but the guards on the scene shot two down. Then the enemy mages fled this way, and started killing everyone they could find with magic.”
Troops screamed, and close by to the west, magic blasts went off, and the sounds of battle and further
bursts of magical rapidly sped their way.
The runner continued to stammer, “The tall n-n-necromancer is leading them. Five others. I don’t know their names. As soon as they broke out, the duty officer sent me after you two and the Thul woman.”
Blondie let the runner go. “Try to find the Thul. Go. Keep spreading the alarm.”
“Yes, s-sir!” The young runner looked only too happy to keep running.
“They’re coming for us, aren’t they, Blondie?” Mason asked, hefting his Spillers.
Blondie clenched both fists, and violet magefire flared up to his elbows. “Yep. Just like I said they would. How do you want to do this, Mace?”
“Hmmm…too many to hit them head on. Let’s go at them from the flanks. I’ll hit them on the left.”
His blond friend nodded. “Then I’ll take them on the right. The necromancer’s going to be the toughest of the lot. Let’s peel off the other five, if we can, and then take him on together.”
“Sounds good, Blondie. Let’s ride.”
They skirted around to either side, trying to stick to cover and stay out of sight. Mason quickly lost sight of his friend.
It did briefly occur to him that this would be an excellent time for Blondie to turn on them all, and help the mages make good their escape. But at this point, Mason had no choice but to keep trusting his good friend.
Blondie said that his abilities were returning.
He could tell them anything he wanted. How would they know if it was the truth or not?
From the sounds of things, the militia troops were putting up a pretty good fight and delaying the enemy at least somewhat. Each precious second they could hold them back, more troops would pour in.
Yet even as Mason got into position to attack, the enemy mages continued to push through, causing death and destruction all around them, and leaving many casualties in their wake.
Startled troops could slow the enemy down, but they would be hard pressed to stop six enemy mages bent on a rampage of devastation.
They were lucky that it wasn’t all thirteen of the mage captives on the loose.
At Blondie’s urging, Major Bill had spread several of the captive mages out to other nearby, secret locations–beyond the limited range of their prisoners’ telepathy.
Mason spotted the enemy. The necromancer strode out in front with another sorcerer. A pair of enemy wizards marched slightly behind them on either side, guarding their flanks and watching the rear.
Blondie stepped up and raked the enemy left and the middle with violet lightning that knocked four of the six off their feet, and stunned the two flankers.
The first flanker on the other side turned to attack Blondie. The second one raised his hands and his eyes got big when he saw the Pistolero step out and aim both of his pistols.
Click! Click!
Nothing. Mason’s guns wouldn’t fire. He cocked and pulled the triggers again.
Nothing.
By then the one mage was charging Blondie, exploding anything that was made of wood around him. He sent the shards and splinters and whirling debris at Blondie, while the necromancer and the other sorcerer still looked dazed and tried to regain their feet. And the mage facing Mason shot greenish-yellow flames out of his hands at all before him.
Mason dove out of the way, tucked and rolled out of sight, and then crouched and ran. The enemy wizard would be on him in seconds.
Finally he came to a building and ducked inside. He scrambled out of sight into an adjoining back storage room and ducked down. He tried his guns again. Still nothing. Why was this happening,? Now of all times?
Blondie needed him out there.
Maybe if he reloaded. Yeah, that would do it.
Slowing his breathing, doing his best to stay calm, he broke out his spare cylinders for his guns and swapped them out. He was fast at it, but every second counted.
He went back out into the fight. As he expected, the fighting quickly turned Blondie’s way, and blasts of magic nearby showed where the foes were pursuing Blondie hard and blasting everything around him. Blondie fought back as best he could, but from what Mason could tell, his friend was outnumbered four to one.
He raced that way, not even trying to stay under cover this time. He had to catch up quickly, and take them from behind, if possible.
Mason sped around a building and almost slammed into the same enemy mage as before. This one seemed to be holding back and protecting the rear of the other three while they stalked Blondie.
Mason had intended to shoot them on sight, but he clobbered the mage from behind now that he was right on top of him. The mage grunted and dropped, unconscious.
Pistol-whipping worked better in this instance. Mason dragged the mage back out of sight and quickly gagged him, and bound his hands and ankles behind him.
At this distance, Mason would not have any trouble taking out the other three with one or two shots, once he spotted them again. And their spells gave them away when they fired. Hopefully, Blondie was staying ahead of them.
Mason rushed forward once more, spotted several troops closing in with bows and crossbows, and motioned for them to go around and close in from one side or the other.
Finally he spotted the necromancer and the one wizard, crouched down and making plans of some kind.
Mason took aim at them with both barrels.
Click. Click.
Crap, not again. What the hell was going on?
Even worse, the necromancer turned and locked eyes with him.
“There’s the other one. Let’s get him!” All of their hands glowed with magefire.
Mason turned and ran for it. Dark lightning and exploding ice covered the area he had just been in.
His foes were right after him. Archers tried to fire upon the mages, but they swept the troops away from their positions with blasts of power.
A stone or outcropping of brick caught the toe of Mason’s boot. He hurtled down upon his face, and tried to roll back up to his feet.
The third enemy mage stepped out right in front of Mason.
Now, the three of them had him fairly trapped.
“Kill him!” the necromancer roared.
The wizard still hesitated an instant. Then he prepared a spell, his hands beginning to glow brighter and brighter.
They were only a dozen or so feet away. Mason hurled his useless pistols at the wizard.
One missed as the fellow dodged to one side.
The other smacked him squarely in the face and dazed and bloodied him.
Mason expected to be cut down from behind by the other two enemies any second.
He glanced back just as the two stood ready to unleash their spells.
Amazon Link to Mergeworld, Book Two: http://amzn.to/1neuq0x
If you have not read the original Naero Books by Mason Elliott, Please enjoy the following teaser from the first Spacer Clans Adventure, Book 1:
Naero’s
Run
NAERO’S
RUN
(Amazon Link to Naero’s Run: http://amzn.to/1eRKCOb)
by Mason Elliott
“We’ve got more than enough to consider here,” Aunt Sleak said. “We’ll post our final decisions on the Spacer ClanNet. All crew, take a breather. We’re out of jump in less that two standard hours. Everyone on duty needs to be at their ready stations. Dismissed.”
Naero went back to her quarters to do some laundry and a little more reading before they emerged. With regular effort, her quarters were less of a disaster than usual. She’d kept her bunk and her floor more or less cleared off, and slept in her bunk regularly now, instead of on the floor or in zero-G or a float bag.
And definitely not in her flex chair, as she had for years because she either couldn’t get her bunk panel out or it was too piled up with crap.
Being small had its advantages. She could curl up like a cat and get comfortable almost anywhere for a snooze.
But keeping her quarters in better shape was a promise she made and kept
–to herself–and her parents.
They emerged from jump with the customary shuddering of the ship. The fleet spread out into is standard formation, emerging back into real Space-Time.
Naero punched up their positions on one of her screens, even though she didn’t have bridge duty for several hours.
The Shinai flanked The Dromon on the port side, with The Slipper posted starboard. Their two smaller ships, The Nevada and The Ardala, brought up the rear this time.
A red hot scarlet particle beam, 60mm in diameter, lanced through Naero’s walls like they were paper, disrupting her wallscreens.
A direct hit from a big gun.
At the very least, from a heavy destroyer.
Warning lights flashed immediately.
The rupture in the hull led to an immediate explosive decompression.
Naero held on tight to her bunk and went flat on the floor as the hull sealed itself.
All ships were vulnerable coming out of jump. They couldn’t activate their shields until right after they emerged.
Someone had been waiting for them.
The Dromon continued getting rocked by multiple hits from what felt like several spinal guns and secondary batteries.
But the big planetoid could take it and give back plenty, her quad main guns humming and whining to life, coming online.
Naero hit her wristcom. All her screens down.
“Bridge. Status?”
“We stepped into it. They were waiting for us. We’re under heavy fire. Multiple bogeys.”
The general alert sounded.
“Battle Stations. Battle Stations.”
Aunt Sleak cut over the com. “All hands. All hands, to your stations. Prepare for battle. All ships, all batteries, return fire. Launch all fighters.”
Naero suited up and raced to the drop bay of her fighter. She met Jan along the way.
Naero's War: The Citation Series 2: The High Crusade Page 33