Exiled: The Battle for Enderseer Hold
Book Four in The Chronicles of Caleath
A Novel by Rosalie Skinner
Genre: Sci-Fi Fantasy
Pages: 212
ISBN: 978-1-77127-011-3
Price: $5.95
Back Cover:
Azriel’s plans of endless domination are coming to fruition. Nasith’s care is her first priority as she persuades the Deathbringer to concede to her wishes. Each day he delays capitulation gives the forces allied against her another chance for victory. They face more than another season of winter warfare. An adversary from history swells the ranks of Azriel’s army. The people of Allorn must defeat a foe whose very touch is deadly as they face a witch who stands supreme.
Excerpt:
Corinne woke from a nightmare. She threw open the shutters and took a deep breath. Chill autumn air filled her lungs and brought her fully awake.
Roiling gray clouds rolled over the mountains in the east adding an aura of dark drama to dawn’s feeble light. The vision suited the dream she abandoned on waking.
Her head ached, but didn’t explain the dread making her heart race. With the Deathbringer in the Council’s care and the survivors from Valkerie’s Peak back among friends, Corinne’s frisson of fear seemed out of place.
Anxiety remained and forced her into action. Once dressed, she entered the corridor. Pale light ventured across aging floorboards and caressed the walls. Years of wear left a patina of smoke and grease on aging woodwork. Despite her wariness the building carried an air of familiarity and seemed to offer a feeling of safety.
Catching sight of her reflection in a glass Corinne tried to banish the frown that marred her visage. Her Kentorian marshal’s uniform contrasted with her unruly hair. With deliberate care to nurture optimism, she skipped downstairs and swung into the kitchen, where the cook removed baked loaves from a smoke stained oven.
“Good morrow, marshal.” The baker rubbed floured hands on his apron and greeted Corinne as she located a teapot steaming on the hob. She grabbed the kettle to pour boiling water into the pot, while the cook’s assistant broke a fresh bun from the cooling rack. The assistant supplied a pat of butter and cheese to accompany the simple fare.
“Thank you.” Corinne took the offering without enthusiasm. The cook turned reddened features away from the oven, as if he shared his guest’s disquiet.
“You’ve lost your appetite, my lady?” He took over the task of creating a perfect cup of tea from of the marshal’s forgetful hands. “Did you not sleep well?” He gave his assistant a nod of encouragement when the girl returned to preparing a basket of vegetables for a pot of soup.
“I slept badly. Terrible dreams. Is it obvious?” Corinne ran a brisk hand across her braid doing nothing to repair the damage lack of sleep wrought. She groaned, feeling the disarray of her singularly stubborn curls.
Accepting her tea and platter of food she forced a smile and made her way outside. Extra tables allowed outdoor dining, to accommodate additional mouths of refugees and Alliance troops.
A reluctant sun showed its face. Birds in full chorus spread their raucous message as the autumn morning developed. With skilled fingers, Corinne re-braided her hair. She settled back to sip her tea and enjoy the crusty bread. With deliberate care she planned her day. For now she would take the chance to learn more about Caleath. The presence of the Deathbringer intrigued her. Nasith’s change of attitude to the mercenary only added to the mystery behind Caleath’s character.
Despite appreciating the moment of quiet, Corinne’s mind wandered. Dark visions from her nightmare lurked in her mind. She tried to relegate her anxiety to memory, but before she succeeded, Travis and Eluart approached. Their countenance boded ill and they walked the empty street with a purposeful step.
The inkling of fear she sought to expel blossomed into dread. She sprang to her feet, crossing the road to intercept their progress.
Both man and Vergöttern saluted her with a deferential gesture. The object of their thoughts obviously remained elsewhere.
“Tell me what troubles you this morning?” Her discomfort linked with their concerns.
“Isadawn has further news from the Nomads, my lady.” Travis didn’t slow his pace. “Eluart and I are about to give your brother the latest information. We have informed the archimage. He is gathering the Council as we speak.”
Matching their strides, Corinne joined them. The lines of worry creasing the beautiful Vergöttern brow confirmed the dread growing in her gut.
* * * *
Corinne entered Mykael’s room with a quick knock. He surprised her by being fully dressed, as if sleep evaded him too. His manner seemed tense but he smiled and greeted her with a warm embrace.
Corinne guided him to the study where the ranger and the Vergöttern lord waited. With a sigh, Mykael bade them take seats. She read anxiety in his mood when he organized his already tidy desk. After Corinne settled in an armchair, Mykael took a chair for himself.
Sunlight broke through the window to herald the start of the day’s activities outside the king’s room. The atmosphere generated within made normal activity sound like a cacophony of chaos.
“Please, speak freely.” Mykael straightened.
“The Nomad Awain reports from the east bank of the River Arrion. They have found the witch’s stronghold, sire.” Lord Eluart spoke without emotion, but his words made Corinne’s hair lift and goosebumps rise on her skin.
Invaded: The Darkest Day
Book Five in The Chronicles of Caleath
a novel by Rosalie Skinner
Genre: Sci-Fi Fantasy
Pages:254
ISBN: 978-1-77127-109-7
Price: $5.95
Back Cover:
Trapped on a dying planet by friends he trusted, Caleath falls into the hands of his arch-enemy.
Fortunately, viewing rights make the Deathbringer a valuable asset. More torture, better ratings. Nobody suffers as well as he does.
Sent back to Allorn, Caleath is the only one able to stop the invasion of his former Karadorian masters. If he keeps a cool head, accepts the help of those who betrayed him and the power offered by the dead planet’s spirit, dare he unleash the ferocious warrior lurking within?
Wrath has been waiting for his chance to take revenge far too long. His time has come–for better or worse.
Excerpt:
A pulse of wild magic knocked Caleath forward before the backlash exploded along the valley. He reeled in the saddle and watched a wall of wind consume the daylight. Above him, lightning shredded eldritch night, while an unnatural tempest stripped vegetation and rubble from the earth.
Ahead, a cart loaded with children moved onto a bridge across the river. Beside him, Corinne snatched at her horse’s reins. The creature squealed and bucked beneath her.
“Tallowbrand,” Caleath shouted as the storm raced toward him. “We could use a little help! Wizard!”
The hurricane drove a bank of river water high into the air. Corinne screamed and spurred her horse toward the children. Caleath gave his stallion, Enigma, free rein, urging the beast forward.
Before he reached the children, the wave struck the bridge. The wooden structure shattered. Cart, horse, and humans tumbled into the maelstrom.
A whiplash of sorcery slashed against the tempest. For a fractured moment, relative calm surrounded the tragic tableau. For respite from the tumult Caleath silently thanked the unseen wizard.
“The children!” Corinne’s voice pitched above the thunder and rumble of tortured rock. He shared the urgent need in her shout, throwing himself from Enigma’s saddle. His wet hands fumbled while he unbuckled the stallion’s reins and lashed them around his own waist. With a shout and few gestures, he urged Corinne to attach the lifeline to the stallion’s saddle. He left her to calm Enigma. When the horse stood hock deep in rising water, Caleath used the slippery leather and rope for support.
He moved deeper into the raging river. Cold tightened bands of steel around his chest and his head ached as air pressure dropped. He waded through waves of debris snagged on the remains of the bridge. Branches, broken timber, and clods of grass struck his head and shoulders as he fought the current. Through driving rain, he caught a glimpse of the overturned cart and the sodden woodwork that rose above the melee. The precious cargo of frightened children clung to the framework. As he approached, Caleath heard their whimpered cries and strident shouts. A deeper voice of calm among the shrill pleas offered comfort and courage.
He caught the dray’s side and dragged three small boys clear of the splintered frame. With one child’s arms around his neck and another boy under each arm, Caleath pushed away from the dray.
“Hang on.” He turned his back on the terrified faces of those children left behind. “Tallowbrand, tell Corinne we are ready,” he told the disembodied dread lord using telepathy to avoid swallowing more river water. Prohibited from working sorcery himself he relied on his companion, the ghostly archimage, for any form of magic.
Rain ran across his face, filled his mouth and blocked his vision while river water sluiced over his head with each successive wave. If not for the tug of the lifeline at his waist, he would not make way against the drag of the current. Even with this additional pull, progress seemed slow. The children cried as they clutched him and made headway more difficult.
He stumbled on slippery boulders, dragged heavy boots from the guttling mud and managed to reach shallower water. To his relief, Corinne took charge of the children, allowing him to step back into the current.
On the second trip, he half-carried half-dragged two older boys. A young man grabbed the lifeline, adding his strength against the current, aiding Caleath’s progress toward the river’s edge. While he helped rescue the terrified children the youth kept pointing and shouting toward the dray. Corinne lifted saturated bodies from Caleath’s arms.
“El’sbeth and her baby.” The youth gasped, taking one child from Corinne’s arms and scrambling to higher ground.
Caleath nodded, dragged air into his lungs and signaled the stallion to step forward again. Intense cold burned every limb. His legs shook and his boots slipped on mud-covered rocks. With teeth chattering he lifted a hand.
“I am going.” The storm snatched his words away. High on the dray’s upturned seat he could see a girl clutching a baby in her arms. When he reached deep water, the wind whipped his hair across his streaming eyes and hid the young woman and the baby from sight.
“Caleath, I can do no more. This storm is unnatural. I am spent.” Tallowbrand’s hollow voice echoed through his mind. Caleath cursed, surging forward to touch the splintered dray.
“A little longer, Tallowbrand,” he pleaded, but heard nothing in reply.
He scrambled hand over hand along the dismembered cart until he found a foothold. The girl slid toward him across the dray’s bench seat before she dropped into the turbulent water. Her hand reached through the murk, desperate eyes pleaded for help as she struggled to keep the baby’s head above water.
His fingers touched hers. In the same heartbeat, the dread lord’s magic dissolved. In an instant, the storm hammered into the void Tallowbrand’s sorcery had created.
Caleath’s fingers closed on empty air, a hair’s breadth from El’sbeth’s hand.
A wall of water smashed into the broken bridge, lifted the structure skyward and speared fractured woodwork into the turbulence. Forces beyond comprehension twisted the cart, thrust the drowned horse into the air and tossed portions of the mutilated bridge in front of the wave.
Caleath heard El’sbeth’s scream above the din. He struggled to reach her but the lifeline pulled tight around his waist before giving way. The sudden torrent tore him from the dray and dragged him beneath the water. Around him uprooted trees, shattered corbels and water pounded into the muddy riverbed. His throat closed when the cart landed across his chest. A silent scream reverberated through his head as a splintered floorboard speared through his side. Watery darkness engulfed him. The dray pinned him in the river’s depths.
Again, he cursed immortality.
Underground: The Day of the Sun
Book Six in The Chronicles of Caleath
a novel by Rosalie Skinner
Genre: Sci-fi Fantasy
Pages 370
ISBN 978-1-77127-244-5
Price $5.95
Back Cover
After the battle of Invaded, Caleath searches for his friends whisked underground, where magic is scorned and shackled.
He must rescue Raul and Nasith before the Day of the Sun. Beneath the artificial illumination of a strange red orb Caleath begins his journey plagued by relentless light.
Accepting custody of a confused young dread lord and guided by a feisty Gabrielle, Caleath struggles to unravel the conspiracy holding a race in thrall.
His journey to rescue Nasith and save Raul from being sacrificed drives him into the hands if his enemy.
Excerpt
The scent of death, a shrill wail of fury, and the icy caress of fetid breath hit him. The hammering of pressure building against his flesh brought him to a halt. He cried out, spinning to seek the source of impending threat. His hand dropped to grasp his sword but he no longer bore a weapon. Searching through the mines, he saw no need for extra weight and encumbrance. Now he missed the feel of steel in his hand. While the Aruven people watched him as if he had lost his mind, Caleath glanced around, seeking a weapon.
The feeling of encroaching danger increased. Caleath shouted a warning to Raul before he started to sprint toward the barbarian. Two solid pieces of firewood caught his eye. When he passed the fireplace, he grabbed them. At a run, he leapt onto a large boulder and launched himself through the air, twisting when he landed, to cover Raul’s back.
From the ground beneath the feet of the Aruven crowd, creatures emerged. Chitinous carapaces, armored legs, and sharp pincers flailed in a blind search until the dirt fell from smooth surfaces. Black scorpions the size of large hounds scampered across the ground and down the walls of the cave.
“You expect company?” Caleath shoved one makeshift club into Raul’s hands.
Raul grabbed Caleath’s offered weapon and began to swing as the strange creatures surged out of the cave floor and moved toward him. “Scorpions?”
“Looks like!”
“Adder’s spit. Look out!”
Caleath smashed his club onto an armored claw. Above him, a poisonous appendage arched and speared toward him.
He lifted his club. With a wild swing he severed the end of the scorpion’s tail. The creature wailed but offered no further danger. Caleath turned to face a dozen more emerging from the dirt. All converged upon Raul.
“Sorcery?” Raul dispatched another creature with desperate strength rather than skill.
“What else?” Caleath timed his answer between blows. “Where is the wizard?”
The Aruven crowd scattered. Weapons appeared. Those able to wield a blade or swing a club defended themselves. Men and women joined the fray. Blades cleaved armored shells. Burning brands kept the creatures at bay. Others used heavy clubs to smash the huge insects into pulp. The numbers didn’t diminish. More of the black carapaces rose from the dirt. For every creature the Aruven fighters killed, another took its place.
Caleath drew a breath. He could feel no telltale crawl of his skin, indicating the use of sorcery. Troubled by the anomaly, he hesitated between blows. Raul’s shout of warning brought him to his senses. He swung his club when one of the creatures caught his ankle between razor sharp pincers. Heavy wood glanced off the armored claw.
With his leg wrenched from beneath him, Caleath lost his balance. Three scorpions surged toward him, snatching at his limbs. He flailed with his club as he fell, beating off their attack.
Raul bellowed. The rattle of insect armor drowned his warning. A plethora of scorpions charged toward them. The barbarian’s curse reached Caleath through the high-pitched wail as the creatures sensed victory.
Caleath needed help. Inadequate mage training meant he didn’t have the skill to conjure spells without time for concentration. Willpower to wield forces beyond his understanding could not guarantee results or damage management. The price of using sorcery also limited his enthusiasm. Within him, a nest of evil vipers writhed, waiting for a moment of weakness when they could unleash dark magic and make him their pawn. Already carrying the title of renegade he knew the lure of dire power. Caleath left his request until he held no hope of overpowering the enemy by other means.
Desperate, Caleath called on the energy offered by the power of the elements, air, earth, water, and fire. He threw restraint to the wind and lashed out with fell forces.
Energy surged through his body. The air cracked with sorcery. The Powers answered his plea. Caleath’s hair lifted as the cavern pulsed with the energy of a lightning bolt and shook with the rumble of thunder.
Scorpions vanished, dispersed in a cloud of dust. The noxious scent of poison filled the air but dire battles ended in a puff of dust. Beneath his feet, the ground shook more than his trembling limbs. Caleath glanced toward Raul.
“You?” Raul grasped Caleath’s hand and hauled him to his feet as the Aruven fighters rushed for the cave entrance. The awful groan as rock struggled to balance energy forces made men yowl. Percussion tortured eardrums as air exploded from the deeper caves.
Offering support as Caleath tested his injured ankle, Raul dragged him after the panicked throng. Together they made their exit from the tortured mountain.
Once clear of the entrance people slowed, turning to watch clouds of dust and rubble billow from the mouth of the cave system.
“Dragon’s blood,” Caleath groaned, as the miasma settled. He collapsed to the ground and buried his head in his hands.
“Did you have a choice?” Raul dropped to his haunches. Caleath appreciated Raul’s perception. The Ruak native understood his aversion to using any magic, benign, or otherwise.
“Those constructs are not created by sorcery, Rami’san. I would know if they were.” Caleath took a deep breath. “Be thankful for their demise and give me time to consider what is going on. I know Nasith is here somewhere. While you enjoy a godlike status, let’s use that to our advantage. I have a dreadful feeling I destroyed our way home.”
Thank you, Chris…what great holiday reading!!! I might have to read them again.
Thank you, Chris…what great holiday reading!!! I might have to read them again.