Responsibility of the Crown
Page 34
“Why are you telling us this?”
“I am telling you nothing your brother, at least, could not figure out on his own, but I have another reason for all this.” He took a deep breath. “The attack on your kingdom was wrong. Not just this latest one, but the one that happened twenty years ago. The Consortium, when it started so long ago, was supposed to be an alliance for mutual defense and enrichment. But as it grew, enrichment and power became more important, and the question of whether people remain free has become an irritant rather than a principle. We’re not what we were supposed to be. You may not care about this, and I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I do.”
Azriyqam sucked in a breath. No one had ever expressed regret for the central act that had defined her strange life. She searched his face. The man was a professional spy and skilled in deception in ways she could not hope to match.
Did she dare to trust him? On the other hand, did she dare refuse the chance if he was being honest?
There was only one way to find out. “Very well. I will work with you.”
“Very good. You’ll hear from me.”
“In the meantime, Admiral,” said Avnai, “will you join us for the remainder of the performance?”
“I should hardly take the chance of being recognized,” he said, shrugging his black jacket back on, “but it would be my pleasure.”
# # # # #
About G. Scott Huggins
G. Scott Huggins, the first ever winner of both Baen Short Story contests, secures the future of the world by teaching its past to teenagers, many of whom learn things before going to college. He loves high fantasy, space opera, and their numerous parodies. He has been writing since the late 20th Century. He enjoys swords, venison, whiskey, and pie. Huggins currently lives in Wisconsin with his wife, three children, and two cats.
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Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”
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The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of The Balance of Kerr:
Burnt
___________________
Kevin Steverson & Tyler Ackerman
Now Available from New Mythology Press
eBook and Paperback
Excerpt from “Burnt:”
Tog shrugged. “I like chicken,” he said as he pulled out his dagger. Standing nearly seven feet tall and weighing nearly three hundred and twenty pounds, a dagger for him was a short sword to most men. He cut a piece off. He didn’t bother blowing on it and poked it into his mouth. There was instant regret on his face. He began breathing through his teeth with the piece of meat between them, the sharpness of his incisors giving away that he was half Orc, if his size didn’t already reveal it. He grabbed his mug and drained it.
Kryder shook his head, cut another piece for himself, and blew on it. Before he took a bite, he said, “If I had a copper for every time I’ve seen you do that, I could exchange them for a piece of gold. I’m talking about a whole coin and not a quarter piece.”
Tog wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, ignoring the remark, and said, “So when are we going to be contacted? Besides the cost of mugs, this place isn’t cheap. It’s not like we have coin to spare. We should think about an inn more in line with our coin purses.”
“I don’t know,” Kryder answered. “The old man said someone would contact us here. If we go across town, whoever it is may not find us.”
“Well I…” Tog started to say when he was interrupted by a loud voice two tables away.
“Look here, halfbreed,” a man dressed similarly to them, in leather armor covered with a travel cloak and a sword on his hip, said loudly. One side of his face had a scar stretching from eyebrow to lips. He was speaking to them. “I don’t eat with such as your kind.”
The three men sitting with him laughed. One wearing a half-helmet with leather flaps hanging on each side added his own loud insult, “Since the rape didn’t kill his mother, surely bearing an Orc bastard did the deed.” The group laughed even louder.
Kryder reached down to his side and drew another smaller, more ornate dagger with his free hand. He laid them both on the table. He stood, turned around, and looked at the four men. Tog, on his feet nearly as quickly, reached over his shoulder and grabbed the axe strapped to his back with one hand. It was dual-headed and meant for two hands when used by a normal-sized man. He placed it on the table beside his own large dagger. A hand’s length of the worn leather-covered handle hung over the edge.
The four men realized the object of their harassment and his companion didn’t intend to leave. They meant to fight. They scrambled to their feet, knocking over chairs. Several groups stood and moved away from the center of the room, while others left the tavern completely.
The owner’s sons looked toward their father. He shook his head. Fights happened, even in his establishment on the better part of town. Usually he had his boys put a stop to it. This time, the insult thrown at the large patron was more than he could tolerate. He decided to let the man demand his apology, even if it meant he had to beat it out of the four. It was an easy decision.
* * * * *
Get “Burnt” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0861FRWFH/.
Find out more about Kevin Steverson & Tyler Ackerman and “Burnt” at:
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The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of The Watchers of Moniah:
The Watchers of Moniah
___________________
Barbara V. Evers
Now Available from New Mythology Press
eBook, Paperback, and (soon) Audio Book
Excerpt from “The Watchers of Moniah:”
The queen focused on the gentle bubbling and ignored the stream of sweat trickling between her shoulder blades. “Send in the champions.”
The assemblage shouted their approval as two foreigners walked forward to accept the accolades they deserved. The men’s lighter coloring no longer startled Chiora unlike the day she and a squad of Watchers found them at the bottom of a muddy cliff. The man on the right, Micah, saved her life during the war with Maligon. Her gaze ran over his tall, lithe build in appreciation. Light hair, bleached white from the sun, glowed against his Monian-kissed suntan like bones on the prairie. Clear blue eyes gazed at her with startling familiarity, stuttering the pulse in her neck.
She drew another calming breath as his companion knelt before her. Unlike Micah, this man’s fair skin had blistered and burned in the harsh sun of their land, a point that favored the reward she would grant him.
Micah maintained his focus on her and nodded in acknowledgement before kneeling. Chiora breathed deeper to suppress the shiver of excitement prompted by his forthright behavior.
“Our dear champions.” Her low-pitched voice echoed throughout the huge open hall. She thanked the Creator that it came out strong and clear, with no hint of the emotions tumbling her soul. “Your journey from beyond the northern mountains came at a fortuitous time. Your courage in the face of our recent struggles brought peace to our lands. As reward, the kingdoms have decided to grant you titles and property.” She turned to Micah’s companion. “Donel, you will be known as Sir Donel and receive land as a vassal to Queen Roassa of Elwar.”
A glimmer of a smile ghosted his face. She suspected his pleasure stemmed from admiration for Roassa rather than the title and cooler climate. Her sister queen shared this interest and had suggested his placement in Elwar rather than Moniah.
Whereas, Chiora could not stop thinking about the other man before her. Micah.
She stood and approached him, placing her hand on his shoulder in the formal greeting reserved for one of her subjects. “As for you, Micah—”
As her fingers settled on his rough, leather vest, the bond with Ju’latt
i surged into her mind in a flash of light. She gasped, closing her eyes. An image appeared. Micah stood by her side. Between them stood a young girl, her skin a blending of Chiora’s amber-colored skin and Micah’s pale complexion. The child’s hair was twisted into a Watcher’s braid the shades of a lion’s mane. In the image, the girl walked away from her parents. With each step, they faded from view, first Chiora, and then Micah. The girl continued to walk forward, alone.
The landscape around the child changed, first the flat plains of Moniah, then the mountains and forests of Elwar. With each step, the girl matured. She halted at the top of a hill, now a young woman dressed in leathers, a quiver of arrows strung over her back, a sword at her side. The shadow of a man emerged from the forests and stood beside her. A divided path lay before them, one route blocked by a monstrous blazing fire, the other by a wall taller than the eye could see. The young woman raised her head, blue eyes blazing, and stepped forward, aiming for the point where the two paths merged together in a wall of conflagration. The man’s shadow followed.
Chiora bent over, gasping for air, as the vision faded. Two Teachers of the Faith rushed to her side, their green robes swaying in their urgency to support their queen, but Chiora remained upright, her fingers digging into Micah’s shoulder. He rose to steady her, a look of concern in his eyes. She gazed back at him, the warmth of his touch flooding her veins.
The Creator had not only sent her a champion to help defeat Maligon, he had sent her a partner. They would make a strong child together, an heir to Moniah’s Seat of Authority. A child who would face insurmountable struggles.
* * * * *
Get “The Watchers of Moniah” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08QRJTHHC.
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The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of The Milesian Accords:
A Reluctant Druid
___________________
Jon R. Osborne
Now Available from New Mythology Press
eBook, Paperback, and Audio
Excerpt from “A Reluctant Druid:”
“Don’t crank on it; you’ll strip it.”
Liam paused from trying to loosen the stubborn bolt holding the oil filter housing on his Yamaha motorcycle, looking for the source of the unsolicited advice. The voice was gruff, with an accent and cadence that made Liam think of the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. The garage door was open for air circulation, and two figures were standing in the driveway, illuminated by the setting sun. As they approached and stepped into the shadows of the house, Liam could see they were Pixel and a short, stout man with a greying beard that would do ZZ Top proud. The breeze blowing into the garage carried a hint of flowers.
Liam experienced a moment of double vision as he looked at the pair. Pixel’s eyes took on the violet glow he thought he’d seen before, while her companion lost six inches in height, until he was only as tall as Pixel. What the short man lacked in height, he made up for in physique; he was built like a fireplug. He was packed into blue jeans and a biker’s leather jacket, and goggles were perched over the bandana covering his salt and pepper hair. Leather biker boots crunched the gravel as he walked toward the garage. Pixel followed him, having traded her workout clothes for black jeans and a pink t-shirt that left her midriff exposed. A pair of sunglasses dangled from the neckline of her t-shirt.
“He’s seeing through the glamour,” the short, bearded man grumbled to Pixel, his bushy eyebrows furrowing.
“Well duh. We’re on his home turf, and this is his place of power” Pixel replied nonchalantly. “He was pushing back against my glamour yesterday, and I’m not adding two hands to my height.”
Liam set down the socket wrench and ran through the mental inventory of items in the garage that were weapons or could be used as them. The back half of the garage was a workshop, which included the results of his dabbling with blacksmithing and sword-crafting, so the list was considerable. But the most suitable were also the farthest away.
“Can I help you?” Liam stood and brushed off his jeans; a crowbar was three steps away. Where had they come from? Liam hadn’t heard a car or motorcycle outside, and the house was a mile and a half outside of town.
“Ja, you can.” The stout man stopped at the threshold of the garage. His steel-grey eyes flicked from Liam to the workbench and back. He held his hands out, palms down. The hands were larger than his and weren’t strangers to hard work and possibly violence. “And there’s no need to be unhospitable; we come as friends. My name is Einar, and you’ve already met Pixel.”
“Hi, Liam.” Pixel was as bubbly as yesterday. While she didn’t seem to be making the same connection as Einar regarding the workbench, her eyes darted about the cluttered garage and the dim workshop behind it. “Wow, you have a lot of junk.”
“What’s this about?” Liam sidled a half step toward the workbench, regretting he hadn’t kept up on his martial arts. He had three brown belts, a year of kendo, and some miscellaneous weapons training scattered over two decades but not much experience in the way of real fighting. He could probably hold his own in a brawl as long as his opponent didn’t have serious skills. He suspected Einar was more than a Friday night brawler in the local watering hole. “Is she your daughter?”
Einar turned to the purple-haired girl, his caterpillar-like eyebrows gathering. “What did you do?”
“What? I only asked him a few questions and checked him out,” Pixel protested, her hands going to her hips as she squared off with Einar. “It’s not as if I tried to jump his bones right there in the store or something.”
“Look mister, if you think something untoward happened between me and your daughter –” Liam began.
“She’s not my pocking daughter, and I don’t give a troll’s ass if you diddled her,” Einar interrupted, his accent thickening with his agitation. He took a deep breath, his barrel chest heaving. “Now, will you hear me out without you trying to brain me with that tire iron you’ve been eyeing?”
“You said diddle.” Pixel giggled.
“Can you be serious for five minutes, you pocking faerie?” Einar glowered, his leather jacket creaking as he crossed his arms.
“Remember ‘dwarf,’ you’re here as an ‘advisor.’” Pixel included air quotes with the last word, her eyes turning magenta. “The Nine Realms are only involved out of politeness.”
“Politeness! If you pocking Tuatha and Tylwyth Teg hadn’t folded up when the Milesians came at you, maybe we wouldn’t be here to begin with!” Spittle accompanied Einar’s protest. “Tylwyth? More like Toothless!”
“Like your jarls didn’t roll over and show their bellies when the Avramites showed up with their One God and their gold!” Pixel rose up on her toes. “Your people took their god and took their gold and then attacked our ancestral lands!”
“Guys!” Liam had stepped over to the workbench but hadn’t picked up the crowbar. “Are you playing one of those live-action role playing games or something? Because if you are, I’m calling my garage out of bounds. Take your LARP somewhere else.”
“We’ve come a long way to speak to you,” Einar replied, looking away from Pixel. “I’m from Asgard.”
“Asgard? You mean like Thor and Odin? What kind of game are you playing?” Liam hadn’t moved from the workbench, but he’d mapped in his mind the steps he’d need to take to reach a stout pole which would serve as a staff while he back-pedaled to his workshop, where a half-dozen half-finished sword prototypes rested. From where he stood, though, he didn’t feel as threatened. He knew a bit about gamers because there were a fair number of them among the pagan community, and he’d absorbed bits and pieces of it. Maybe someone had pointed Liam out to Pixel as research about druids for one of these games—an over-enthusiastic player who wanted to more convincingly roleplay one.
“Gods I hate those pocking things,” Einar grumbled,
rubbing his forehead while Pixel stifled another giggle. “Look, can we sit down and talk to you? This is much more serious than some pocking games you folk play with your costumes and your toy weapons.”
“This isn’t a game, and we aren’t hippies with New Age books and a need for self-validation.” Pixel added. Her eyes had faded to a lavender color. “Liam, we need your help.”
* * * * *
Get “A Reluctant Druid” at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07716V2RN.
Find out more about Jon R. Osborne and “A Reluctant Druid” at:
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The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of Forge and Sword:
Keep of Glass
___________________
Steven G. Johnson
Now Available from New Mythology Press
eBook, Paperback, and (soon) Audio Book
Excerpt from “Keep of Glass:”
Trinadan peered at the spot Forge was examining. She thought she saw a bit of movement.