It's been a bit of a rough five days over on my side of things, which is the reason I haven't been very active over the last week or so. To start, I'm trying to prepare the final copy of Destruction's Ascent so that when it goes live you guys get the best book I can produce. The copy edits for it just came in over the weekend. Unfortunately, my grand plans to get a head start on them were derailed after an unfortunate incident with a pair of contacts that left me unable to keep my left eye open for any length of time. Thankfully, the problem has since resolved itself, and I can go full steam ahead, but the delay cost me valuable time I didn't really have.
You see, I realized yesterday that I'm about two weeks behind schedule on Broken Lands 3. There were a few scenes I had to rewrite early on, that, while I'm happy with the end product still cost me progress in the story. I'll get caught up eventually as my writing always goes faster on the back half of a book, but until then I'll probably be less visible on social media and the blog.
In the meantime, here is a short snippet of Destruction's Ascent Chapter One as a bribe.
Chapter One
Tate itched, her fingers tingling with a mad
desire. It was a struggle to ignore the irritant that had been plaguing her for
the last hour, one she'd resisted valiantly. She knew she was doomed to fall to
its temptation eventually. It wasn't a little itch. One that she could ignore.
No. This itch had started as a small annoyance, easily brushed off, before it
had grown, multiplying until her scalp practically twitched with the need for
relief—the irritant consuming her thoughts.
She blamed the wig. Ever since she had put it on,
it had been driving her crazy. The disguise was heavy and cumbersome—a maid's
outfit she’d been forced into because her friends thought she was too
recognizable in the underground.
Don't think she hadn't noticed how the other two
had escaped the same fate, despite having faces even more recognizable than
hers. She had a sneaking suspicion her maid's uniform was more about providing
her friends with a good laugh than keeping her identity hidden.
Meanwhile, she was stuck trying to think about
anything but the fact that she wanted to rip this blond monstrosity off and
bury her fingers in her hair. She might end up dead afterward, but she was
almost convinced it would be worth it.
The blouse wasn't too bad, but the skirt would
definitely be a problem if there was any fighting—its weight and length keeping
her from an effective fighting form. Not that this little jaunt was supposed to
involve fighting, but one never knew. Stranger things had happened.
It was the Night Market. Anything was possible,
and she'd learned to be prepared. The preferred destination of smugglers,
thieves and murderers, the market did business in an underground cavern large
enough to fit the Emperor's palace and a few other government buildings, with
room to spare. Its maze of stalls with their brightly colored banners bustled
with as much busyness as any market topside—if not more. Illegal goods were a
booming business.
The biggest difference between here and topside
was the air of furtive desperation and violence. Merchant and customer alike
moved with a wary suspicion missing in the markets aboveground—
eyes
constantly on the lookout for their next mark, or conversely, those looking to
take advantage of them. It was “eat or be eaten”, and there was always a bigger
fish in these rough seas.
It wasn't the type of place where you went
unarmed, and Tate fought the urge to check for her blade as a big fellow with a
face not even a mother could love gave her a sideways glance.
She looked around with a barely concealed
grimace, asking herself how she'd let herself be talked into this.
Tate stepped closer to the stall she'd stopped at
and pretended to be absorbed in the array of jewelry on display. No doubt most
of it had been taken from the home of a wealthy merchant or noble. The shiny
baubles failed to hold her attention for long, and she glanced at the stall to
her right, focusing on the youth in front of it. Out of the corner of her eye,
she watched as the owner's face flushed, and he shook his head at a boy no more
than sixteen or seventeen, with a face as fresh as dew on a crisp spring
morning.
Dewdrop's jaw tightened—the only sign that
negotiations weren't preceding according to plan. Tate moved to the end of her
stall. His contact—a man Dewdrop swore he'd had many dealings with in the past—wasn't
supposed to be the type prone to violence, but this was the Night Market. It
wouldn't be much of a stronghold for thieves if it wasn't as unpredictable as
it was dangerous.
Tension threaded through Tate. It was harder to
let him take point than she thought it would be. She waited, even as impatience
niggled at her. Not yet. It wasn’t time. Dewdrop hadn't given her the signal
they'd agreed upon—the one he was supposed to use if he got the slightest inkling
something was off.
She lifted a necklace up to the small globe
lights lining the stall's frame before putting it back down. Her attention
veered back to the other stall for a moment before she glanced at the shadowed
ceiling of the cavern, barely visible through the shadows clinging to it.
"Buy something or move along, dearie,"
said a frail-looking woman with skin as fragile as tissue paper and hair a
snarled gray mess around her head. She shuffled forward, hunched from a spine
twisted by time. "Got no time for gawkers."
"I haven't found what I'm looking for
yet," Tate told her. Not that she was really looking.
The old woman seemed to know it too. A dry laugh
rattled her chest, and she spit a glob of mucous right next to Tate's foot. Her
eyes held a sly twinkle. "Wasn't born yesterday, girl. You're no more
interested in this junk than I am in a well-endowed man."
Tate opened her mouth to protest again, then
closed it as a familiar figure caught her attention. She turned to watch as a
tall man—dark hair brushing shoulders she'd recognize anywhere, their muscled,
rigid definition impossible to miss—moved through the crowd. She knew if he
turned toward her he'd have blue eyes, the type you could get lost in if you
weren't careful, and a face rugged and fierce, the outward manifestation of the
warrior inside.
He wasn't alone. A man, just as big and dangerous
looking, stalked by his side.
"Damn and blast.
What's he doing here?" Tate muttered. She glanced back at Dewdrop and then up at the
ceiling cavern where Night, their other friend, hid. He wasn't visible, the waist-high
bearcat a master of sneaking around undetected. He was their ace in the hole if
things went sideways, but he was only supposed to reveal himself if they were
in imminent danger.
She turned her attention back to Ryu and his
companion. He had no business here that Tate knew of. Granted, he'd had
dealings with the Night Lords in the past, but he usually kept such connections
under the veil of secrecy. Striding as nice as you please through the middle of
the market where anyone could see wasn't secret.
She ducked her head and avoided his eyes when he
glanced in her direction. While she wasn't technically doing anything that
could be termed illegal—except for the fact that getting caught visiting the
market was considered an admission of guilt—she didn't want her presence
advertised. Not when he'd told her to drop her obsession with finding a certain
brown-eyed murderer who’d indicated more than a passing knowledge of Tate’s
origins.
Tate glanced back once she’d deemed it safe, her
eyes drawn to movement behind him as the market heaved with disturbance. Black
coats marched into view. Anybody in Aurelia would recognize that particular
style. They were only worn by the Black Order—a sect that stylized itself as
another branch of law, but were little better than extortionists and bullies.
She didn't know if Night was seeing this or if
he'd decided to catch a nap, before she looked back at the old woman, telling
her, "If I were you, I'd pack up and get out of here."
The woman peered in the direction Tate indicated
and let out a long string of curses that would made a sailor blush. "Not
another one," she muttered. She raised her voice as Tate turned away.
"Get to packing. We’re being raided."
The other vendors scurried into motion, their
wares flying off tables and into bags or boxes. Within moments, the market was
a seething cauldron of activity.
She stalked toward Dewdrop, not bothering to hide
her intent. Any need for subterfuge was gone now that the Order had decided to
make their presence known. She didn't want her friends getting caught in
whatever was going down. From past experience, she doubted the men wearing the
black coats would be merciful. If they apprehended them, they'd treat them to
the same hospitality they showed the rest of the riffraff they rounded up—or worse,
given the history she had with that group.
"Time to go," she told Dewdrop.
"I'm not done," he argued.
She jerked her head toward where men from the
Black Order were kicking over tables and riffling through the contents.
"You're done. I don't plan on sticking around until they notice us."
Dewdrop's eyes went over her shoulder.
Frustration flitted across his face.
His companion cursed and turned to Dewdrop.
"This is your fault. You brought them down on us."
"I did no such thing," Dewdrop spat
back. He stepped forward and poked the other man in the chest. "And you
know it, Scotty."
Scotty sniffed. "I know nothing of the sort—you
upstart, swanning around with your noble lady and her dragon. Too good for us
regular folk."
Tate lifted one eyebrow even as a smile twitched
at the corner of her mouth, amused despite the fact the Order was closing in on
their little corner of the market. She'd never been referred to as noble
before. Obstinate, yes. Stubborn, definitely. Low-class and a host of other
things, but never noble.
Dewdrop exchanged a look with her. Scotty
snorted, interpreting that look correctly and said, "Yeah, I've heard
about you two. We all have. You're not going to convince anyone here to deal
with you now that you've been blacklisted."
Dewdrop watched the other man with a cocky jaunt
to his mouth. To someone who didn't know him, they would assume he couldn't
care less about the revelation. To Tate, who now considered him the little
brother she'd never had, she could see the information dismayed him.
His mouth firmed, and he stepped close and shoved
Scotty back a step. "Good to know. I'll make sure the right people learn
about that little problem you had two years back."
"Why you little—"
Tate grabbed Dewdrop by the arm and jerked him
sideways out of Scotty’s reach. "As amusing as this is, I think it's past
time we take our leave."
Dewdrop’s posture turned alert at the sight of
the Black Order's men now only four stalls away. A man looked over at them and
pointed, shouting, "Halt."
"You've got a point," Dewdrop said.
Tate so often did.
She kicked Scotty's stall over, blocking the way,
as she and Dewdrop ducked between it and another stall. They threaded through
the market—not an easy task given the writhing mass of chaos it had turned
into. The merchants here didn't take kindly to business being interrupted even
when the Order shouted that they had the Emperor's authority.
Tate felt a small amount of amusement when one of
the merchants unsheathed a sword and advanced on the interlopers, crying,
"You can stuff your Emperor up your duff.
The only authority we recognize down here is that of the Night Court!”
He wasn't the only one to grab a weapon. Now that
the Order had lost the element of surprise, more and more of the merchants were
turning violent, unwilling to let their stalls be destroyed. It was clear the
Order was outnumbered.
There was a loud clacking, the sound
reverberating through the cavern.
"Creators curse it," Dewdrop snarled,
sounding aggrieved. "They're calling in the Night Lords."
Tate followed her friend's slim back as he leaped
across overturned tables and swerved around wrestling bodies. She echoed his
sentiment. They didn't have long before the Night Market turned into a full
battle. The personal guards of the individual Lords weren't like the merchants
here, whose weapons experience was the sort picked up in back-alley brawls. No,
the men and women being summoned made up the inner circles of the Night Lords'
courts. Highly trained, incredibly deadly, and not the sort to spare a man just
because he had a writ of arrest signed by the Emperor's Lord Marshall. These
were the people who committed dark deeds in the dead of night. Assassins,
soldiers and the like. Dewdrop had told Tate many had, in fact, been part of
the Emperor's armies before realizing they could make a much better living on
the other side of the fence.
Even as they dodged around another set of
wrestling bodies, Tate could see men and women spilling in from holes above,
using ropes or ladders to descend rapidly.
A flash of movement caught her eye as Night leapt
over a ledge, sailing through the air to land on a banner, then gracefully
sliding down to bound across the cavern floor toward the two of them.
"So glad you could make it," Dewdrop
shouted.
The Order's men have
blocked off the entrance we used. We'll have to find another way. Night's mental voice was
light as he ran next to them. He was having a good time—the threat of imminent
danger not fazing him.
"This way," Dewdrop shouted.
Tate and Night followed, trusting he knew where
he was going. Of the three of them, he had spent the most time down here,
having been part of a court. He'd been a pickpocket when Tate met him. Since
then, he'd parted ways with his former court—some of that may have been due to
Tate's interference. She liked to think he was happier now, even if his life
was a lot more dangerous.
Dewdrop swerved to the left, running down a narrow
space between the back of the stalls and leaping over spilled wares. Tate
followed, Night bringing up the rear. They were on the edge of the market—opposite
of where they had come in. The stalls were tightly packed together here,
slowing their momentum.
"Here," Dewdrop hissed, lifting a tablecloth
up and gesturing under it.
Tate eyed it with dismay. He really wanted them
to crawl under there?
He made a face at her. "Hurry!"
Fine. She slid under the table, making room as
Night crowded in behind her, followed quickly by Dewdrop. He crawled past them,
making sure to stay under the row of tables, which had conveniently been placed
in a long line. Night made a chirping sound of appreciation and padded after
him. Tate was left with no choice but to crawl in their wake.
The table's skirt caved in as the people outside
crashed into it. Tate slid over, barely managing to avoid getting a foot to the
face. She grumbled to herself as she moved faster. Just in time for the table
behind her to crash to the ground under the weight of two men.
Dewdrop came to the end of the line and paused,
lifting the table's skirt to peer from under it. He turned back to them.
"Coast is clear."
He didn't wait for a response, ducking out. Night
followed without hesitation. Tate crawled out from under the table into a scene
fit for a madhouse. ‘Coast is clear’ her ass. There were at least a dozen
battling bodies around them. She flung herself forward as a pair fell into the
space she was occupying.
She scrambled after Dewdrop and Night as they
darted across the space toward a small ledge above them. Dewdrop levered
himself up, pausing to wait as Night cleared the ledge in a single bound.
Dewdrop held his hand out to Tate, pulling her up after him.
"Now what?" she asked. They were above
the fray, but that wouldn't stop some enterprising man from the Order looking
to make a name for himself from crawling up after them. Nor would it stop any
of the Night Lords’ men from shoving them off if they were noticed.
"This leads to one of the upper levels.
There's a path that will take us to the surface from there."
"Isn't that Night Lord territory?" Tate
asked. The cavern was constructed in tiers with several platforms and wide
ledges overlooking the market. They were the domain of the individual Night
Lords, none of whom welcomed trespassers.
"I don't have a better idea, do you?"
Dewdrop asked.
Not really.
"At least their attention is focused on the
market," Tate said.
Night yowled next to them, calling their
attention. We have company.
Tate turned to look, then cursed as several men
wearing black coats leveraged themselves up.
"Upper levels it is," Tate said.
Dewdrop grinned and took the lead, sure-footed
and light on his feet on the narrow ledge. Night was just as at home on the
uncertain path. Tate struggled more than usual, the skirts she'd been forced to
wear making her balance a little more precarious. When she almost tripped off
the side for the second time, she let out a stinging curse, grabbing her skirt
in one hand and her blade in the other. There was a ripping sound as she
stabbed the blade into the material and yanked, cutting a long slit in the
skirt's front.
There. That should do. Maybe now she wouldn't
break her neck during this getaway. She darted after Night and Dewdrop.
Catching up was simple when her stride wasn't constricted.
They raced up one narrow track after another,
climbing when necessary, and leaping over wide spaces where the ledge had
crumbled. The men from the Black Order quickly fell behind, not as at home on
these type of pathways as the three of them.
They came to a wide platform overlooking the
market. An archway marked an entrance to the tunnels and relative safety—from
the market and its interlopers at least.
"We're nearly there," Dewdrop called
over his shoulder.
A man stepped out from the shadows. Tall and
lithe, with the grace of movement suited to an assassin, Blade considered them
with eyes of pure black, marred only by the faintest trace of blue around his
iris. He tilted his head and looked them over. His hair, so black that it
appeared a deep blue in the right light, was cut so close to his skull that it
looked like a shadow.
Though only half Kairi, Blade, possessed their
same lethal grace—the kind that said killing you would be easier done than said.
Tate had seen him fight and had no wish to be on the opposite side of any
battle from him. However, it looked like she might not have a choice at the
moment.
Night crouched, and Tate's hand dropped to the knife
she'd hidden in her belt. Blade's loyalty was always difficult to judge. He'd
wavered between enemy and impartial party in the past, even appearing almost
friendly at times. In the end, he was the right-hand man of the Luciuses, two
Night Lords who shared the same name and identity to fool their enemies. He was
theirs to command. If they'd marked Tate and Dewdrop for death, he would carry
out his orders, no matter their history.
His lips twitched with amusement at their
wariness. He jerked his head at the archway. "Best get going before they
reach us."
Tate glanced behind them and cursed when she saw
the men from the Order not far from the platform. Dewdrop stared at Blade, open
disbelief on his face. Tate hesitated as well, searching for the trap.
Blade arched one eyebrow, the expression
perfectly at home on a face as handsome as any noble’s. "Go, before I change
my mind."
Tate didn't need to be told again. She tugged on
Dewdrop's arm, forcing him to follow as they made their way swiftly but
cautiously across the wide-open space; an area she suspected belonged to the
Lucius’s court, hence the reason for Blade's presence. She was careful to keep
an eye on Blade and the other threat as it quickly advanced from below. He
might have said they were free to go, but this was the Night Market. Words were
never to be trusted and betrayal was to be expected.
Blade turned his head to keep them in view as
they made it to the archway. His black eyes seared Tate's with a hidden
message, as if to say, 'you owe me, now'. Men spilled onto the platform drawing
his attention. Blades appeared in his hands, the movement so quick that it was
if they were called by magic. He gave the trespassers a fierce grin, his face
ablaze with anticipation before he leapt to meet them.
Tate hesitated, not liking the thought of
abandoning him to the Order's mercy, given he'd just spared them, but not
really seeing a choice. Dewdrop grabbed her and tugged her through the archway,
obscuring her view of the outcome. She stumbled, before gaining her balance and
running at his side.
"He'll be fine," Dewdrop assured her,
sounding slightly out of breath. "He's the best fighter Lucius has. A few
Order men won't even give him pause."
A few? There were at least five men out there.
For Dewdrop not to be worried, it spoke to exactly how fierce a foe Blade was.
They made a right turn, quickly followed by a
left. By the third turn, Tate was well and truly lost, her sense of direction unreliable
this far underground. Luckily, Dewdrop seemed to know where they were going,
navigating the tunnels with ease. Neither of them carried torchlights, but that
wasn't a problem given the soft glow the walls gave off, illuminating their way
with ease.
The entire labyrinth of twisting passages was
man-made, the surface too smooth and edges too defined to be anything but.
Their pace slowed as they put several tunnels
between them and the market. Chances were the Order wouldn't follow them into
the tunnels. One—because they were liable to get very lost down here without a
guide. And two—because it was too dangerous. There were things that waited in
this labyrinth; things not seen since the Creators left this world, leaving
their monsters behind—those judged too deadly to try to integrate with society.
"How often does the Order raid the Night
Market?" Tate asked. She'd been under the impression that the market was
largely left to its own devices as long as it didn't try to conduct business
topside. There was an unspoken agreement between the Night Lords and the empire
that held, if they kept to their little fiefdoms, the empire wouldn't exert too
much pressure. Stray to the world above, however, and they were fair game.
"Never. Not once in all the time I was part
of the Court of Two Dawns," Dewdrop said, glancing behind with a
frustrated expression.
"A merchant made it sound like this had
become a regular occurrence," Tate said.
The Order has decided to
make a name for themselves. They plan to start with the tunnels, Night said
telepathically, stalking along at their sides, his barbed tail flicking lazily.
An apex predator engineered by the same Creators who had likely built this
place, he was sleek and deadly, his body a cross between a large feline and a
bear. You would never see him coming, right up until his fangs were ripping out
your throat.
He angled his head up at them, his long ears and
their tufts of fur making him seem more adorable than deadly. More than one
child had tried to tug on those ears, an act that he tolerated a lot better
than Tate ever would. Amber eyes peered up at her over a flat nose.
Dewdrop snorted. "Like that'll ever happen.
They could throw every man they had at this place and never make a
difference."
"When did you hear that?" Tate asked
after a moment, her forehead wrinkled in a frown.
Night's whiskers twitched in feline amusement.
Bear might have been in his genetic makeup somewhere, but he definitely favored
his feline ancestors. Around.
Her eyes widened. "You've been spying on
them again, haven't you?"
Night didn't answer, just padded along silently.
"You know if you're caught, they'll use it
as an excuse to deny your application," she told him. He'd made moves to
get his species recognized as sentient. It would afford him all the rights and
protections of a human, making it illegal to treat him like an animal.
Keeping an eye on my
enemies is worth the risk. Night's tail switched back and forth, the only sign of his
agitation.
"Unbelievable," Tate muttered.
He was risking everything. The Black Order
already had it in for him, simply because he was made by the Creators. Such
protections against being hunted or put down like a rabid animal should have
been his by right. Not the case in Aurelia. Evidently some of the creatures
left by the Creators were mad, unthinking monsters, consumed by bloodlust or
driven to fulfill their original purpose. As such, the government had deemed it
wise to create certain safeguards that would prevent such creatures from being
elevated to the same status as the three main races—human, Kairi, and Silva.
Groups like the Order had been the driving force behind those laws, and they
would be only too glad to discredit him in any way they could.
Before she could make him see reason in that
stubborn brain of his, a shadow sprang from an adjacent tunnel—completely
hidden until now. That shadow grabbed Tate by the arm before she could do much
more than squawk, slamming her into the wall and holding her there with a
forearm pressed to her throat, her wig tilting precariously.
She didn't bother to struggle, already knowing
the person who accosted her. She glared up at Ryu even as the presence inside
her sent an excited shiver racing down her back. Ilith, the other being she
shared her body with, acted like a cat in heat when Ryu and his dragon were
near. It was an inconvenience—especially considering Tate wasn't entirely sure
how she felt about the other man. Ilith's feelings muddied the water, making
Tate's life even more difficult.
Dragon man, Ilith whispered in the
back of her mind.
Yes, yes. He's the dragon
man.
Tate's thoughts were acerbic. She didn't dare try voicing them this close to
Ryu. She'd learned earlier in the summer that most Dragon-Ridden—someone
capable of forming a bond with a dragon and able to move between the two forms—did
not communicate with their dragon beyond the stray emotion. To do so was a sign
of dragon madness. Those afflicted were often put to death for their own good
and the safety of others.
It was best to keep that part of her a secret.
Ryu knew, but others might be lurking about. Tate had no doubt that a thief’s
stronghold would have many hidey holes capable of concealing listeners.
Want, Ilith thought at Tate.
Well, you can't have him, she snapped back. By
necessity, she'd been forced to learn how to communicate with her dragon
telepathically. It was a work in progress. Not everything got through all the
time.
This was not those times. Ilith grumbled and settled,
her presence drawing back to a small corner of Tate's mind.
Ryu watched Tate with an intent gaze, suspicion
in his as he waited for her to focus on him again. A wary look was in his eyes,
one she'd started to notice he got anytime he suspected Tate was talking to the
dragon.
"Ryu, what a surprise," she said with a
cheeky grin as her wig gave up the battle and tumbled off her head.
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