Preview - Hell in a Storm

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Chapter 1 

The wind picked up; its unrelenting force driving the rain against the castle’s great walls. Lightning streaked through the angry clouds, accompanied by thunderous claps that would boom and rumble away into the distance. Before one flash could fade away, another replaced it.

The citizens of Mazwar took shelter in their homes and businesses, closed their doors, and braced them against the weather. Some said it was the worst storm in ten years. Old men said it was the worst since they were small children, though in truth, none could ever remember worse.

Only one man braved the storm. Hunched over, Father Enek leaned on his walking stick as he crossed the street holding a large Alkosch before him. A circular medallion with spiraling lines flowing outwards from the center, the iron Alkosch was the holy symbol of the Maklese Church. Between claps of thunder, the old priest shouted his warnings to any who would listen.

“—lord of darkness is upon us. Repent your evil ways oh citizens of Mazwar! Repent your vile thoughts oh sons and daughters of Castle Malroy! Repent your sins, for the darkness is upon us and soon God will judge your deeds.”

Another giant bolt of lightning lit up the sky, giving the rolling clouds a fiery accent. The priest had to shield his eyes from the brightness for a moment before thrusting the Alkosch back towards the sky. “Repent your wicked ways oh ye--”

A large spear of lightning struck the Alkosch, sending sparks clear across the brick paved road. For an eternal second the priest stood, outlined in a bluish white glow before the bolt of lightning was gone and the old man collapsed to the street. The Alkosch had melted the flesh of his hand and forged its wilted structure to his bones.

No one saw the priest lying there in the street. Nobody noticed the downpour of rain pelting his lifeless eyes, for the citizens of Mazwar were keeping to themselves, hunkered down in the safety of their homes. Safe from the worst storm that has ever laid waste in the country of Shayle. The worst ever seen in the land of the Three Kings.

Deep within the castle’s dungeons, there was another storm loose. There was no thunder and not a hint of lightning. There was no rain or wind. Yet, this storm could unleash a darkness upon mankind, the likes of which the world has never imagined.

King Harren Malroy sat in the high backed oak chair, staring at himself in the mirror created entirely from shadows where a dark figure stood holding it. However he tried, the King of Shayle could not make out any features of the one hidden in the darkness and had long since given up trying. Now it was as if the ghostly image did not even exist. All King Harren could look at was his own reflection.

Once, he had been a large man. He’d been a Ruler who reigned with power, in his Kingdom as well as in his own physical appearance. Now the sight of himself made him want to vomit on the spot. A gaunt face, framed his sunken eyes, with his forehead covered with liver spots. At the age of eighty-three, he supposed he should be glad he could still get around on his own two feet, as slow paced as that was, but it was not enough. He hardly filled out his purple shirt the way he once had. He always wore purple. He believed that purple, and gold are the two colors of royalty, but gold always seemed overbearing when he wore it. Lifting a hand to touch his bulbous nose it froze half way to his face. Seeing how his hand shook disgusted him beyond words.

“You are nothing more than food for the worms now Harren.” The shadowy figure said, its voice sounding like a thousand whispers. “The twelve children you fathered in your years are those worms. They dream of the day you will die, wondering who it will be that you have named to replace you. A one in twelve chance of gaining the throne is far better than no chance while you live. You know well that you will not live another two years in your health, but I tell you now, you will not live out the year.” With a quick flourish of its hand, the mirror faded away in a collage of wispy tendrils before the dark figure continued to speak in its haunting voice. “You can have your strength back Harren! You can have ten more years to rule and likely longer. Your hands will no longer shake. Your vision will be as good as when you were a young man!” The figure took a tentative step toward the king. “All you need to do--” It took another smaller step and leaned to look at the old king in the eyes. “—is to serve me! Give me your oath.”

Harren stared into the face. Up close now, he could actually make out the dark soulless pools that were the figures eyes. Harren’s voice shook as much in fear as it did with age as he spoke. “I serve you and I will retain my power as King of Shayle?”

The shadowy figure laughed, a deep and cynical sound that echoed in Harren’s head. “But of course you will keep your power. In fact you will have even greater power, for you will have my strength as well.” The shadow curled its dark hands into fists. “Serve me and you will be king of all that lies between the great seas.”

“I don’t know.” King Harren whispered. Sliding one of his feeble hands down his face, he looked lost. “I just don’t know.”

The shadow grew even darker, as if swallowing what light there was for them in the deep dungeon. King Harren could no longer distinguish a face as the figure straightened up in front of him, but somehow he was certain it was now snarling. His whole body began to shake with fear that he was very near his death. The dark figure had done nothing to give him that fear, but somehow Harren was sure of it. If the figure so wished, it could crush him where he stood.

“You, decrepit old fool!” The shadow hissed. “You will not live out the year without me. With me, you will live for many more years. You will have your strength again. The realm of your control will reach every shore. Yet you consider turning me away? Without me, one of your seed will expedite your death in hopes of having your crown. Of your twelve children, only one is not hoping for an accelerated death.” The shadow circled slowly around Harren once before finally continuing. “Serve me Harren, and you will retain power. Let me walk away and within the year one of your undeserving spoiled children will have you killed.”

The king silently wondered which child the shadow was speaking of. Could so many of them care so little for their father? Could eleven of the twelve truly be wishing for his death? It was unthinkable.

In the three lands of Jawiva, the kings have always chosen their heir to the throne. His children’s names, were written on a sheet of parchment, in the order he would have them reign. That parchment was sealed in an envelope and locked away in a small room, which was guarded and sealed as well. Touching his fingers to his chest, he felt the key beneath his purple shirt. It was the only key to that room.

For a long time the shadow stood in silence, allowing King Harren to consider his limited choices. When the king did not speak up, the shadow hissed at him. “You are as big a fool as those leaches you call your children.” The shadow spun around and walked away toward the deeper darkness in the corner of the dungeon.

“How can I be sure?” King Harren’s voice shook as he hurriedly uttered the words, fearful the shadowy figure would continue to fade, leaving him with a quickly fading future.

The shadow stopped and slowly turned around. It stood so close to the deeper shadows that the king could hardly tell where one ended and the other started. “What is it you wish to be sure of?” The question came in its usual echoing whispers. “You offer me health and strength. You make promises of my kingdom growing. You promise that I can rule all of Jawiva instead of only Shayle.” King Harren swallowed the phlegm that was caught in his throat before continuing. “How do I know you even have the powers to give me these things?”

The shadow moved slowly back to him and when it once again stood in front of the king, it stood quietly, considering what the king had asked. Finally, after a long while, the disturbing voice came again. “I will do this for you in good faith.”

The shadow’s hand reached out, sinking into King Harren’s chest. The king tried to move back as far as his high backed chair would allow him to, afraid of what the dark figures hand might do. At first when the hand seeped into his chest, he was surprised that it did not hurt. Then a moment later, he realized it actually felt quite good. When the shadow finally pulled his hand back, the king sat with his mouth opened in wonder at how he now felt. He felt-- invigorated.

“That,” the shadow said, “Is only temporary. It will fade as the days continue if I am not there to strengthen it. As it fades, remember how it felt to have your health again and consider the fact it is but a small thing compared to what I can do.”

The king stared in silence at his hand that no longer shook. He felt the energy inside of him strong again. He did not believe he was ready to run up the stairs to the upper floors of the castle taking two steps at a time, but he felt he could make it up those stairs and not need a rest. When he finally lifted his head, the shadowy figure was gone.


If you would like to follow the likes of, Hel Bragen, a giant dark skinned warrior who stands over seven feet tall, Stray, a thief tracker and the deadliest man alive, and Levicus Kane, the troubled Priest, as they face the possessed Kingdom of Mazwar, please follow the link to your favorite E-Book store where you can buy my book.

Links will be listed below as the book becomes available.