|My name is Lauren Pomeroy I'm a Fantasy Fiction writer for Amazon.com and I hope you'll look at my two new books that have recently been released - One, "Alexander: Vanquish the Night", The second, "Corruption" for the price of 2.99 for the entire book! Samples are free, please check it out and pass it along to your friends! Also, you dont need a Kindle electronic device to have it, just the Kindle App for free either available on PC, Ipod, Iphone, and even Blackberry as well as the actual Kindle Device.
Alexander: Vanquish the Night - First page preview-
Gazing out of the open window, Alexander stared into the cold blizzard that swarmed across the sun and placed the land into a deep freeze. Frost crested the iron windowpanes and clung to the glass. He held his sword close to his chest and watched as the snow continued to fall. A deep sinking feeling came creeping silently into his heart; an even greater realization that his father was lost in battle, when his black stallion came into the courtyard with no rider.
No. He thought. It cannot be.
Alexander placed his hand flat against the window as he gazed out at the horse, digging its hoof into the snow. He stepped back and paused, letting his hand fall at his side. His eyes glazed over, but there were no tears. They had been stopped. The silent crying of his mother was heard in the next room.
Peering into the open arched doorway, Alexander watched his mother’s shoulder tremble and shake, along with her hands that cradled her sobbing eyes. A scroll lay upon the table in front of her; splattered with blood and sealed with a black wax emblem. The sign of the king. Such a scroll had always meant one thing; Death.
Clutching the handle of his sword tighter, with pain and anger inside his heart, Alexander suddenly turned back to the window, seeing a figure slowly fading into the clear. Limping; wounded. A man. A soldier.
Rushing out to meet the stranger, Alexander stopped under the cold and haunting shadow of black short hair, swept over jade green eyes in what was thought to have been a ghost. His father is what looked down at him. Flickering, fading eyes stared deep into his soul. Feeling his strong hand clamp against his shoulder and his swaying body mass beginning to crumble, Alexander did his best to try to hold him up; it did not last long until they both fell to the snow banks against the cottage.
In the distance, whinnying horses could be heard, and their thunderous hooves quaked the earth. The other soldiers were coming for him. They knew he had escaped and they planned to make sure he couldn‘t tell the tale.
“Father!” he shouted in his matured voice. Gripping the clothes upon his father’s back and shaking his shoulders, Alexander beat upon his armored chest plate in depressing anger. Although he was seventeen and had been training for battle since his legs could stand, or hands could grip a sword, he was still unready for the sight of war; especially when it brought, in his eyes, the strongest man in the world to his knees, completely unwilling to live. Alexander was not ready, no matter how many times he told himself he was.
Alexander lay crouched, cradling his father’s body, and finally the falling tears on his eyes turned to the cold woods that surrounded their home. Shadows; figures approached. The snuff of the horses grew louder, and their steps grew greater. The soldiers whom had killed his father, approached with the yearn of a greater bounty. His father had mistakably led the opposing enemy right to them.
The cottage door swung open with the cries of his mother rushing down the steps, gripping Alexander by his shoulders, and trying to drag him into the house where it might have been safe; hoping to get him away from the lingering soldiers and her husband’s corpse.
As soon as Alexander let go of his father, the soldiers charged, gaining in speed and capturing both the boy and his mother. They were far too quick. Alexander was restrained by two strong soldiers and was forced to watch his mother’s brutal torture and instant murder. Red stained their blades, her clothes, the snow; her eyelids quickly dropped and they let her body fall to the banks.
Looking up at the soldiers as they looked at him and his quivering lips, Alexander opened his mouth, “What do you want?” he whispered helplessly. “What do you want!” They remained silent and gave no information to cure his needs. Just as they began to come for him, and the soldiers whom held him, grips tightening, Alexander’s anger rose in his throat as he shouted into the echoing woods, “No!”
Kicking to the side, he threw out the soldier’s left kneecap and watched as he fell to the ground in agony; simultaneously he gripped his blade, and swung at the soldier to his right, cutting his shoulder with a deep gash and watching him descend and bleed to his death. Three more soldiers came to him, as the remaining four stayed in the background. Ducking low as the first soldier’s blade swung over his head, Alexander cut across his horse’s leg, letting the beast fall forward, throwing the knight from his saddle. Rushing towards him and slipping in the process, Alexander pointed his blade at the ground to stop his fall, and watched as the knights body became his post for a cease in movement. Rising to his feet, staggeringly, he pulled his sword from the knight’s chest and mounted his father’s horse, kicking its sides and rushing towards the two other’s. Withdrawing a concealed dagger, Alexander held the metal blade between his fingers and threw it with great strength as the first soldier, letting it land at the top region of his heart. Holding the sword in his other hand, letting the blood on its tip begin to freeze, Alexander swung it in a windmill motion over his head and with a final swing, he let the tip cut across the soldiers face and eye, having him fall from his horse and into the snow.
Then, he slowed his horse. Four more knights stood by to kill him. Kicking his horse into full gallop, he took off towards them and seeing as they readied their blades, his horse jumped and pushed its way through the two middle soldiers as the two outside, took after him. Feeling a stinging pain on either side of his ribs, Alexander looked to see two large gashes; they had cut him on his only escape. He held the reins to his horse as best he could as they seemed to fly through the woods and when taking a sharp turn, he lost them in the white fog of the blizzard.
Corruption - First Chapter Preview-
The glare of the burning sunset hurt his eyes as he slowly rose from the bloody clay his body had been sinking in too. With his hand before him to block the rays, he squinted to gaze beyond the shadows of his fingers onto the damage of the battle. The time seemed to pass in slow motion from one second onto the next; Glorious shining armor clanging with each step across the field, the soil beneath him had mixed into an unholy, stinking clay filled with the hundreds of thousands of dead men that had been left to rot in the afternoon sun earlier that day, and the gorgeous blended quilt of kingdom and city colors, melted with individual class united as one to protect their freedom from intruders.
Trying to move his cheek, the clay mask had already dried upon his skin and whiskers and reeked with the stench of the filthy bog they had created. In the distance, the cries of living men could be heard for hours and hours, until so much time had passed, that the cries grew fewer and fewer from those that were encased and drowned inside the sinking mud. Tasting the floating dust that hung in the air and the salty sweat in the corners of his mouth, he wiped his shirtsleeve across his lips to better himself from becoming nauseas like the others. Still searching amongst the crowd, staring at his fellow knights, the wind softly blows from behind him carrying a soft whisper. Noticing it, he slowly turns around, seeing a delicate figure move among the men, and finally seeing her in view, it was his wife. Seeing her looking into his eyes, he watches as she softly smiles at him, and suddenly with a painful throbbing in his head, he kneels and carries his cranium in his hands until he is blended through time to approach the courtyard of his home. Feeling the pain subside, he opened his eyes and slowly stands back to his feet upon the pathway leading to their door.
Seeing her inside the window, he feels a sense of comfort and begins to walk toward the house. Feeling the breeze at his back again, he turns to see knights upon horses stampeding towards him, as if he were invisible. Whirling around as they gallop past him with torches and weapons, he watches as the soldiers invade his home. "No!" he shouts silently, hearing nothing immerse from inside his throat. The sounds of murder break over the wind as she moans and screams to the high heavens and is locked inside, while the remaining soldiers light his house in a wreath of flames. Suddenly, the world he is surrounded in slowly turns black, while the roar of the fire and her screams echo inside his mind.
Coughing harshly and feeling the oncoming nausea, he rose to his knees and heaved heavily with the smell of the rotting bog still among his armor and flesh. Breathing in a panic, he realizes that the only company missing is the Imperial Army, loyal to the king. Getting to his feet, and wiping the goo from his face, he approached his captain, "My Lord! Prince Moroven!"
"Hadrian, I was beginning to think that I had lost you. I am overjoyed to see that you have returned from the dead, go get cleaned up you look terrible," he replied laughing.
"No my Lord, where is Baldric and the rest of the soldiers from the Imperial Army? I must know, please!" Hadrian begged.
"They've already departed by order of the King, I'm sure they've returned back to Daemonham by now, or at least Waymere or Sparthmere with him. What is it? What's wrong, my friend, you seem troubled?"
Hadrian's heart suddenly filled with fear. He knew that this dream was not at all - it was far too real to be a dream. With a few back steps and panicked eyes, he rushed to his horse and mounted it, still slightly wounded from the battle. Withdrawing his sword, he hit his stallion in the rear and with a lunge, galloped fast away from the battlefield.
With the wind his face, he weaved around the horde of allied soldiers, wounded and fatigued from the battle earlier, and all he could think of was, Faster, faster! Please let this not be real! As he finally leapt onto the path that lead to him home deep in the woods of Richvale, he tried desperately to ponder a reason as to why they would want to kill Emeline or him for that matter, and yet, his thoughts were bare.
Smelling the pine trees all around him, and the flowers in the side-banks slowly beginning to fade away to winter's touch, a crisp, charcoal smell floated around him suddenly. Pulling his steed to a complete stop, his eyes widened with a watery varnish as he could look beyond the pine pillars against the sky and see the smoldering black haze that swirled towards the heavens. His rough, former farming hands slowly let the reins go from his palms and there, his horse moved forward, sensing his master's concern to get back to their home.
Around the bend, Hadrian's cottage slowly came into view against the lush pine needles still intact with their branches. The wooden, structured beams of his home still intact, but lit up where the hottest pieces still softly burned. There was nothing left. The entire ebony mound was all that was left...and there nothing close to identifiable when he found his wife’s limbs protruding from the rubble. Trudging through the ashes that had floated into their courtyard, Hadrian continued to enclose the gap between him and the destruction of everything he held dear. Finally plummeting to his knees, he sunk over with his hands in his lap, tears streaming through the blood and dirt upon his face.
His chest heaved heavily; trying to regain steady breathing through is sorrow. Soon, looking up once more at the devastation, he noticed something ripped and torn upon a sharp piece of the center beam. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he slowly rose to his feet to inspect the object that suspiciously taunted his train of thought. Going over the rubble, and creeping carefully around the crumbling structure, there he saw a burned piece of fabric. As he fingered the cloth trying to remove it from the post, his heart beat quickly knowing the colors were all too familiar. Ripping it off and laying it in the palms of his hands, there he saw all the evidence he needed.
Clenching his fists, he turned back to his steed who stared at him with large black eyes, and the approaching shadows of his townsmen. Bloodshot and weary, Hadrian trudged back in his full armored suit and sword, slowly letting his hand grip the front of his saddle. With a small amount of the cloth symbol draping from his bag, he mounted his horse and started back for Waymere Castle, out of sight and out of mind to the others.
Within reach of the castle iron gates, Hadrian slowed his horse to a walk and struggled to remain calm when greeted by the Imperial Guards, holding their shields and swords with the broad silver emblem of the king - the very same that draped from his saddlebag, burned nearly halfway. The strong fragrance of the signature incense the king used carried through the wind from the council chamber high above the town inside the kingdom. Leaving his steed at a post with all the other horses of every kingdom leader, he looked into the generous eyes and well-built soul of his most trusted friend and placed a hand on his long snout. "I may not come back my friend...but I know that you've already forgiven me for the actions I'm about to take, for sake of your master," he whispered, referring to his wife, who always took care of Isleyear and the other horses. With a great heartache inside him growing, Hadrian pulled the bridle from the beast's head, along with the saddle and the burnt flag piece, softly patting him on the nose. "Go..."
As the horse slowly turned around, left the kingdom, and disappeared into the woods, Hadrian sighed and looked back at the towering stone building behind him, watching the floating fog of incense come from the window. Feeling the clammy, stuffy air tightening around him as he walked up the flights of stone stairs, he could no longer shake the realization of what the next few moments intended for him with the King.
The large oak door towered before him, with thick, metal reinforced panels both vertically and horizontally bolted to the wood. With the flag piece, crunching and half black from the fire, in his hand he placed his other on the base of the wooden council door and slowly let it creak open. The great King Goran and the Captain of the Imperial Army, Baldric, were placed at the head of this very long glass and wood table sent to him as a gift from the Elves. Goran's bold structured face was shadowed by the light behind his mighty crown. He bore amber and gray hair, along with his beard and wrinkles of aging. He wore a grand suit of gold armor with his insignia engraved into the chest plate, and a long red-velvet cape buckled to his shoulder guards.
His egregious, preying influence stood beside his throne, encased in black armor with the double sword symbol of the Imperial Army imprinted on his chest plate too. His strong jaw and broad body structure made him the largest, most powerful Captain of the Guard in years - and he made it known. With a black, muggy five o'clock shadow surrounding the line of his jaw, and the black circles beneath his cold gray eyes, Hadrian watched as he ran a hand through his short black hair and sighed at his presence.
"Hadrian, you left so quickly, I thought you'd never come to the council meeting. I trusted the battle to be too much for you, so I sent no one to retrieve you from your home," said Goran.
"There's no home left to even retrieve me from, King," Hadrian growled.
"I found my home and barn burned to the ground...along with my wife's ashes spread across our courtyard. My entire home is nothing! How dare you pretend as if you are oblivious to the situation you premeditated!" he shouted. "You sent that beast," he continued, pointing to Baldric, "to kill me and yet he found something else! You killed my wife, you son-of-a-bitch!" Breathing heavily through clenched teeth, Hadrian saw, as Baldric's eyes appeared annoyed at his accusation.
"I only take orders from the king, and I was ordered to do no such thing. If you accuse me, you accuse the king-"
"You lying bastard, how can you explain this!" Hadrian interrupted, throwing form the burned flag of the Imperial Army.
"We were sent to save your wife, Hadrian. Forgive me for doing the wrong thing, in your eyes," Baldric replied.
"And therefore," said Goran, standing from his throne, "you shall be sentenced! Hadrian Thatcher the Second, I banish you to the depths of Withering Peak, in the dungeons of the West Keep for a period of five years for accusing the King of your country of murder. Guards! Take him away!"
"No!" Hadrian shouted in outrage. As the guards took him by the arms, Hadrian struggled against their strength, screaming injustice as they removed him from the Council. His large hands gripped the side panels of the doorway, fingernails scratching against the hard stone, chipping the ends. As he watched the burning eyes of the King and Baldric stare through his soul as the door began to close, Hadrian's world suddenly played in slow motion.
Even the ride to the West Keep in the Withering Peaks seemed like it took a century. The constant rocking forward on the horse's back, continuously, almost rhythmic as they walked on for what seemed like three days. No sleep, no food, no water, but a solid, steady pace for three days, making him go mad on the inside. With crazed, determined eyes - a killer's glare, Hadrian looked at the back of the guard whom had traveled with him to ensure his punishment was followed through.
"You know what happened...," he said.
"Silence, you idiot! I want no conversation with a hasben like you."
"You know what happened, what they did to my wife, don't you? Please, answer me! Just tell me," Hadrian said again. His eyes began to water, begging for an answer from the guard, watching his eyes somewhat glance back in guilt. He knew that he had the information to what the King and Baldric did to her, and he wanted it out of him, even if he had to risk his own life by attempting to kill the guard.
Yet the guard said nothing, and as they climbed higher towards the West Keep just below the dragon's cave to the Withering Peaks, the guard sighed heavily, walking both their horses through the gate and into the dungeon where the other Imperial Guards would take him. Dismounting, Hadrian was helped down by him and caringly placed into his cell, where his irons were unlocked and tossed to the side. Locking Hadrian behind the bars, the guard looked at him with sorrow, "I am truly sorry...for what you have lost. No man should ever lose his family the way you did. Trust me, Hadrian, I am an honest man...but I know no more than you do about what happened to your wife, and if I did, by God, I would tell you. Godspeed, Hadrian, and I hope that one day you find your answers..."
Watching the guard turn and walk out, Hadrian called, "Wait! Please, wait! You do not have to do this; you do not have to leave me here to die! Let me go!" With a final saddening stare from the noble guard, Hadrian sank away from the bars he so desperately tried to seep through, and watched as the door closed to swallow the sunlight with it. Sighing, and putting his hands together, he moved to the back wall and dropped down to the floor.
With a bowed head, and his elbows on his bent knees, he folded his hands together, clenching his jaw in anger. He knew what had happened to his wife. He knew what Baldric and the King had done or what they were intending to do to him, although not why. His heart was ravenous, and his thoughts, malicious. Finally opening his wild eyes to the cold, gray surroundings of the dungeon, he slowly breathed a heavy sigh, and there in the dark he waited.
Five Years Later
If you enjoy both of these books, there will also be the sequel to "Corruption" to be released in the winter of 2011-2012 called, "The Dragon Prince".