Monday, July 20, 2020

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: SOMEONE'S STORY by B.A. Bellec #YA




SOMEONE'S STORY
B.A. Bellec
YA / Coming of Age

In his debut endearing coming-of-age book, B.A. Bellec writes about a group of weirdos that find and save each other from the dark depths of their minds. Someone’s Story is literally Someone’s story, as in a first-person narrative of a teenager that calls himself Someone. As he struggles to find a new footing in a new space, we encounter the many ups and downs of modern teenage life, the difficulties that adjusting to adult feelings bring, and a few tear-jerking surprises along the way.

Littered with music, mental health, friendship, loss, meditation, advice, pop culture, and even inspiring an EP, there is so much nostalgia, inspiration, and depth here it is hard to absorb it all. Cozy up somewhere warm and enjoy!

“B. A. Bellec has crafted a masterpiece of emotive and well-rounded young adult fiction.”
K.C. Finn – Author

“The variety of personages, situations, and mental illnesses represented allows all readers to relate to this book and take something away from reading! This novel is on our list of all-time favourites!”
International Girls and Books

“Someone’s Story is a beautiful novel, written in great prose, very descriptive, and filled with insights about life. The author does an incredible job with themes of family, friendship, bullying, and personal development. It felt like I was reading a portion of my emotions and myself in Someone’s Story.”
Gobi Jane – Professional Critic @ Readers’ Favourite

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3dHJU7X






It’s cold. That means different things to different people. To be specific, I haven’t seen the grass in four months. When the wind gusts, my skin burns.
That part isn’t so bad. The part that’s horrible is the wind is kicking up frozen snow and it feels like a person is throwing a handful of razor blades at me. If I don’t dress properly, I would be lucky to survive fifteen minutes. Like actually die. It’s cold.
The sidewalks disappeared long ago, so I have to brave the road for the short walk to school. It’s dangerous on these small-town roads. Sometimes, the snow is blowing so hard I can’t see more than a few feet. Scary.
When I get to the front door, no one is there. The building is small, so I can see all the way around to the lot behind it. There are a few cars. On a good day, we get twenty. I try my luck around back. The door is unlocked. Once I get in, it looks like a ghost town. I check all the rooms. Not a soul. This place is eerie and unsettling. Maybe it’s the prison bars on the windows and the ketchup-themed school colours.
Eventually, in the lunchroom, I find a few of the teachers. As I walk in, I take notice of the room right next to the lounge. It is the tiniest office ever. It’s more like a broom closet. Dr. Drum is written on the door. Funny name.
Teacher: Class is cancelled. Go home.
The teacher looks again and realizes it is me.
Teacher: How are you feeling? Is anyone bothering you?
They’re always asking questions like that. I don’t answer. Just sigh because I don’t want to brave these conditions again, but I have no other choice. I slowly make my way along the country road back home, occasionally having to put my back to the wind or tuck my head deep into my chest in order to avoid the searing pain.
To my surprise, Dad’s truck is back. Once I get inside, it takes a good five minutes until the feeling in my hands comes back and my clothing has thawed enough that I can take the first few layers off. Dad is sitting at the table.
Dad: Hey kiddo, we need to talk.
Instead of responding, I just make my way to the table and seat myself.
Dad: They're transferring me.
My eyebrows raise but I am too young and naive to really understand what that means.
Dad: They offered me a good raise in a new position. But we have to move. I didn't want to take it. I looked around. My field is declining. There is nothing local. I am lucky they offered me what they did.
My mind races.
Someone: I want to stay.
Dad: No, we just can’t.
Someone: What about my mom?
Dad: You know I don't know where she is.
Someone: I'll find her.
Dad: That's not a good idea.
I can hear the clock slowing, but at the same time my heart speeds up. Slower and faster, slower and faster. What is happening? I can’t breathe. I need a drink. I can't move. Why can't I move? WHAT’S GOING ON?! The room spins and I fade to black.
















Author of Someone’s Story and co-collaborator on the music it inspired, B.A. was born in Richmond, BC and raised in Langley, BC, before settling in Winnipeg, MB. His first adventure was a career in Finance, where he spent 15 years developing his business skills. His highest achievement was the Certified Payroll Manager designation. He currently still consults with businesses on their systems and processes. Over that period of time, he also attended film school where he started to nurture his early creative abilities.

A self-starter always interested in research, he taught himself many of the aspects of storytelling through reading books, screenplays and material online. Whenever he found an inspirational piece of art, he quickly went to the source to find the story behind the artist who created the work. It took many years after attending film school for him to finally combine his creative skills with his life experience and tell that story he had been holding back. Some of his favorite creative people: Lukas Rossi, Justin Furstenfeld, Peter Jackson, Stephen Chbosky, John Green, J.K. Rowling.

Currently he is pounding away on the keyboard writing his second novel, Pulse. This project is a change of pace and more details will come in a few months!

B.A. is also an avid jogger and walker, frequently using them as a way to work on those tough spots in life and his manuscripts. If you found it this far into his material, reach out to him on Twitter and make sure to like and subscribe to get updates on all his future endeavors.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: http://www.babellec.com
Blog: https://babellec.com/b-a-bellecs-blog/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/b_bellec
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/babellec/


http://www.pumpupyourbook.com
 

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY by Makenna Lee @makennaleeauthor #romance





HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY
Makenna Lee
Contemporary Romance

Wealthy cowboy, James MacLachlan, is content running his massive family ranch and starting an equine therapy program for special needs children. After his mother died in childbirth, and witnessing his father’s destruction at the loss of true love, James sticks to casual affairs. Marriage and children are risks he won’t take.

Reese Turner visits Cypress Creek, Texas, to complete a photo assignment for National Geographic and buy back her grandparents’ cottage. After disastrous romances, she’s sworn off men to focus on her career. Marriage and the babies she longs for can wait. When she runs into an old flame, she decides she can live out a fantasy, then leave town to pursue her dreams. But love doesn’t play by the rules…

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3ewdGh7

Entangled Pub https://bit.ly/3dCDZRT




She opened the driver’s side door, then turned to tell him good night. “Thanks for dinner.” Was that her voice sounding all breathy and wanton?
“You’re welcome. If you come out first thing in the morning, we can get an early start and go for a ride. And work on my great-great-grandfather’s mystery.”
“I like that idea.” Get in, Reese. Drive away. Instead, she brushed a leaf from his shoulder.
His full lips lowered to the corner of her mouth. The caress was gentle. Brief.
The simple, innocent kiss hit a switch inside her. One that hadn’t been tripped since their last kiss, over eleven years ago. One that other men had not managed to tap into. Her entire body warmed, sparking a shiver and a desire to stay, but she needed tonight to gather herself.
This was her chance to stay in the cottage and convince him she could take care of it. Not the start of a summer romance.
But could she manage a temporary romantic reunion?












Makenna Lee is an award-winning romance author living in the Texas Hill Country with her real-life hero and their two children. Her oldest son has Down syndrome and taught her to appreciate the little things, and he inspired one of her novels. As a child, she played in the woods, looked for fairies under toadstools, and daydreamed. Her writing journey began when she mentioned all her story ideas, and her husband asked why she wasn’t writing them down. The next day she bought a laptop, started her first book, and knew she’d found her passion. Makenna is often drinking coffee while writing, reading, or plotting a new story. Her wish is to write books that touch your heart, making you feel, think, and dream. She enjoys renaissance festivals, nature photography, studying herbal medicine, and usually listens to Celtic music while writing. She writes for Entangled Publishing and Harlequin and believes everyone deserves a happy ending.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: www.makennalee.com
Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/MakennaLeeBooks
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MakennaLeeAuthor
Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/makennaleewriter/
Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/65227832-makenna-lee



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Happy Book Birthday to HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY by Makenna Lee #bookbirthday @makennaleeauthor @entangledpub



We're thrilled to announce the release of Makenna Lee's HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY today! To help celebrate, we are asking our readers if you can pleeeeze pretty please pick up at copy at Amazon or the Entangled Pub website and come back and tell us how you liked it? Or, leave a review at Amazon! 

Congratulations, Makenna, on your contemporary romance release, HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY!







Title: HER SECOND CHANCE COWBOY
Author: Makenna Lee
Publisher: Entangled Amara
Pages: 260
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Wealthy cowboy, James MacLachlan, is content running his massive family ranch and starting an equine therapy program for special needs children. After his mother died in childbirth, and witnessing his father’s destruction at the loss of true love, James sticks to casual affairs. Marriage and children are risks he won’t take.

Reese Turner visits Cypress Creek, Texas, to complete a photo assignment for National Geographic and buy back her grandparents’ cottage. After disastrous romances, she’s sworn off men to focus on her career. Marriage and the babies she longs for can wait. When she runs into an old flame, she decides she can live out a fantasy, then leave town to pursue her dreams. But love doesn’t play by the rules...

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/3ewdGh7

Entangled Pub https://bit.ly/3dCDZRT 

Makenna Lee is an award-winning romance author living in the Texas Hill Country with her real-life hero and their two children. Her oldest son has Down syndrome and taught her to appreciate the little things, and he inspired one of her novels. As a child, she played in the woods, looked for fairies under toadstools, and daydreamed. Her writing journey began when she mentioned all her story ideas, and her husband asked why she wasn’t writing them down. The next day she bought a laptop, started her first book, and knew she’d found her passion. Makenna is often drinking coffee while writing, reading, or plotting a new story. Her wish is to write books that touch your heart, making you feel, think, and dream. She enjoys renaissance festivals, nature photography, studying herbal medicine, and usually listens to Celtic music while writing. She writes for Entangled Publishing and Harlequin and believes everyone deserves a happy ending.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: www.makennalee.com
Author Twitter: https://twitter.com/MakennaLeeBooks
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MakennaLeeAuthor
Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/makennaleewriter/
Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/65227832-makenna-lee

Monday, July 13, 2020

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: A WHISKERED PERSPECTIVE by M.G. Spear #fiction



A WHISKERED PERSPECTIVE
M.G. Spear
Fiction

Meet the cutest new black kitty in fiction, Pumpkin!

Like cats? Relationships? Then A Whiskered Perspective is for you.

Relationships are hard, but they are worth the effort. You should try your best, no matter what, to work things out, right? Not always.

Miller thinks she has found love but her cat, Pumpkin, tells a darker story. Not all love is equal, even if you desperately want it to be.

It’s a different take on relationship turmoil and the power of a connection between a cat and his human.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/30K9Tsx





Have you ever been set on fire?
            I have.
            Tied up, thrown into a bag, the smell of gasoline filling my nostrils…
            Such is the way of the warrior.
            I had been minding my own business, hunting mice for dinner when the neighborhood bully caught me by surprise with a pillowcase.
            The local humans would whisper I was the trouble tom, always picking fights with their house cats, or spraying on their fence line.
            And, of course, attacking the neighborhood bully when he threw rocks at me.
            Now he had the advantage. My sharp claws could only do so much damage through the fabric, and he grabbed my legs and tied them so my claws would no longer be an issue. I yowled and spat and hissed with the rage of fire but to no avail. The way of the warrior is to accept death, but this was my seventh life, and I was not ready to give it up. But I could see no way I would survive as the pillowcase caught fire.
            “Hey!” a woman screamed.
            I heard the bully run away laughing as my flesh started to sear. The pain was building, and even with meditation techniques, I could not get my mind far enough from the pain.
            Then my miracle came. Someone doused the pillowcase in water. Cold, blessed water.
            The ropes came off and the makeshift sack was opened. Delirious as I was, I knew not to struggle as this random woman, this passerby, scooped me up in her arms and carried me down the street. She took me into her house and tended my wounds while I lay panting, grateful to be alive.
            Weeks go by, and I continued to heal and snuggle with this woman. I made sure to do nothing to upset her, to throw me away, and only sprayed in the litter box and did my business there. She was grateful for this kindness and cleaned it every day for me.
            Her house was a small three-bedroom house. She lived alone, a teacher educating other people’s children but coming home to no one. I was the answer to her loneliness. She talked to me every day about the goings-on in her life. She kept a diary, which I read from time to time. We were grateful for each other.
            This is the story of my friend and me.













M.G. Spear is a teacher who writes for stress relief, and currently has published multiple books with more in the works. She teaches Biology to both college and high school students, and mostly her days are filled with logic. But M.G’s creative side comes out in her writing.

M.G. has been writing for as long as she can remember and hones her craft by reading books and constantly writing. She is very eclectic in her writing passions, from general fiction to horror books, to motivational and humorous posts on her blog. Her major influences are Edgar Allen Poe, Gillian Flynn, Chuck Palahniuk, and Frank Peretti. She published her first short story collection, Jumping on the Trampoline, in 2006, but then life got in the way. Now she is back in the game, ready to bring more stories to life.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/mgspearwriting/
Instagram: www.instagram.com/mgspear_
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/sparsur/


http://www.pumpupyourbook.com
 

Wednesday, July 1, 2020

Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: HOW THE DEER MOON HUNGERS by Susan Wingate @susanwingate




HOW THE DEER MOON HUNGERS
Susan Wingate
YA/Coming of Age/Mainstream Fiction

For those who enjoy reading books like Where the Crawdads Sing and My Sister’s Keeper
MACKENZIE FRASER witnesses a drunk driver mow down her seven-year-old sister and her mother blames her. Then she ends up in juvie on a trumped-up drug charge. Now she’s in the fight of her life…on the inside! And she’s losing.

HOW THE DEER MOON HUNGERS is a coming of age story about loss, grief, and the power of love.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08676VMT3





PART ONE

the beginning
“a flower knows, when its butterfly will return, and if the moon walks out, the sky will
understand; but now it hurts, to watch you
leave so soon, when I don't know, if you will ever come back.” ―Sanober Khan
1

The Day Before

I, one Miss MacKenzie Becca Fraser, was never one for saying fuck much. But as with life, things change.
The year before, Dad removed Tessa’s training wheels. The bike had grown up, was halfway between a tricycle and a teenager’s bike. Her eyes glowed when the trainers came off. Her smile? Buoyant. My bike was what Tessa called a big girl bike—a beach cruiser in Tiffany box blue. Mine didn’t have ribbons shooting out of the handles. Can you imagine me going to school with ribbons out of the handles? My peeps would never let me live it down.
The evening before what people called the worst thing that’s happened on the island since Becca Winthrop went and flopped over dead of heart failure at the liquor store, we set off on a night ride—Tessa and me. We left Mom at home stirring up dust with her favorite electric broom. Tuesday was a lazy fall night, one with the sun and moon in competition for the evening sky; with the sun being selfish for time, trying to hang on to day even though it knew it should just stop shining, give up, and go away. We’d stuck playing cards in the spokes of our tires to add to clicking crickets, tree frogs chirping, a not-so-distant fox hacking out a cough to alert its scattered pack of food found—a doomed rabbit or kitty kibbles left out on someone’s porch. Up the hill, deep in the woods, an owl’s Psalm echoed back from its mate as if they were holding invisible hands across the horizon, not wanting to let go. Their song played while we rode.
We’d split the deck of cards, each one clipping twenty-six onto our tire spokes to deter animals from darting out into the lane ahead. Because that was all we needed—to crash into a raccoon crossing the street. Not much good for the coon either. But the road was deserted, and I kept Tessa in front, keeping my eye out for her.
Tessa rode her bike fast like she was angling to lasso the moon, which sat high at the end of the road over Old Man Johnson’s cattle farm. The big, yellow ball lolled around atop a silhouette of gossamer evergreens framing a large swatch of grazing land.
Wind fluttered that silky sable ponytail of hers as we came off the downhill side of False Bay Drive where the road at the end of summer stripes a path of thirsty grass along the strait, where cows graze in a pasture trimmed by a stand of golden poplars, crooked and bending toward the north sky away from steady winds coming off the water. Most people think that on our island in the Pacific Northwest, we live in slickers and galoshes year-round. But that’s the secret we have. Seattle gives our island a bad reputation, makes us soggy when we’re not. We live in what meteorologists call a banana belt or a rain shadow, so our island lacks the lush, drippy rainforests often found in other parts of the Pacific Northwest.
Each downstroke of my pedals matched rhythm with the plastic ribbons whipping off Tessa’s handlebars, whizzing like a thousand bees around her hands. When she skidded to a halt in front of me, I yanked left, my wheels slipping as I swerved to miss her, no doubt balding a spot on the tire’s rubber.
“What’s wrong with you?” I demanded, anger flashing hot in my cheeks and pooling into my chest.
Tessa didn’t seem to hear me. She was gaping up at the sky with that moon gaping back at her.
“What?” I repeated, but this time we were both fixed on the dang moon.
“Do you see it, Mac? The deer?” Tess was in the habit of starting, finishing, and rereading Thurber’s The White Deer for, like, the millionth time—a read way above her grade. In fact, she often fell asleep with the stupid book open-faced on her chest. Then the next morning she’d stick a crow feather in the book to mark her place and set it on her nightstand, ready for her evening read.
“There’s no deer in the moon, dork, but there might be a man if you look hard enough. You need to read real stuff. You’re getting weird.”
“See its horns?”
“Antlers.” I told her. “A hungry moon like that likes to eat seven-year-olds for dinner.” “Nuh-uh,” Tessa answered.
I rolled my bike backward, parallel to hers, close enough to sneak my hand around the back of her head and yank her ponytail.
 “Don’t,” Tessa yelped.
I enjoyed hearing her whiny kid voice. Mom called it plaintive. But Mom liked to make things sound more sophisticated. Her beaten-up chest of drawers was a chiffonier. The mossy stone patio, a pergola. Mom wanted more out of life, and I suspected she harbored a few regrets. “Our island didn’t hold a candle to New York City,” she’d complained one night. “Not even to Seattle. At least Seattle has an international flair,” she’d said.
Mom could have been a model if she’d pursued it, but she’d fallen in love, had kids. The what-happenedto-my-life syndrome seemed to have snagged her in a net she couldn’t get out of. She often talked about things she would do after Tess and I were out of school, when the house and her life were her own again. A longing filling her words, just enough for me to sense an underpinning of resentment. Her gaze would shift to the window, outside, away and away, but not for long; and she would chuckle. Then, she’d sit upright and say, “Oh, we wish on stars and mushroom caps for moon dust and fairies.” I don’t know where she got that phrase, but Mom always trotted it out when she got wistful. Maybe it came from Gramma Kiki. Who knows? It really doesn’t matter, but the oddity of a phrase like that will stick with you.
And although our island boasted an international school—Spring Street School—our town was mostly country, with nothing international about it. We didn’t even have a stoplight. Just stop signs and, of late, one abused turnabout.
When I glanced sideways at Tessa, she was straddling her bike as she stared up at the moon. I noted a certain otherness in her expression, as if we weren’t alone, as if the ghost of that deer she’d spotted in the moon had plopped onto her shoulders and was weighing her down. Her eyes seemed dark with worry and as deep as a pair of bottomless wells, shimmering with unshed tears. I think about that worry sometimes. It haunts me still.
“Come on,” I said. “We’d better get home. Mom’s already in a snit.”
“I wonder what the deer eats, Mac. Do you think it’s hungry?”
“One thing it doesn’t eat, Tess, is cheese!” I said, laughing, but Tessa didn’t get it. She didn’t know then, or ever, about the man in the moon or about the cheese the moon was allegedly made of.
I used to like the word allegedly. I’d learned it as a vocabulary word at the start of my junior year, and I got it right on a pop quiz in homeroom spelling. The teacher even had me write my sentence on the board: Gemma allegedly hid the pencil from me, but there was no evidence to prove that for sure. The sentences I would write with this word now could not be more different: I was allegedly taking care of Tessa when we went to the park the day after looking at the deer moon. And I was allegedly not watching when the car hit her.  Allegedly became an important word for me after Tessa died. It’s weird to recall how much I liked the word in my junior year but hated it afterward when I heard the cop use it.
Allegedly,” he’d said, “the younger one was in the older sister’s care.” And then, as though no one understood, “The older one was supposed to be watching the younger one.” He said one as if we were buttons on a conveyor belt at some stupid button factory. The jerk.
After Tess died, I started counting the days of the moon as it sketched out a path in the sky from crescent to half to gibbous to crescent again. I called it moon spying, and every month when the moon was ripe, I used to rush outside to search that big ol’ cheese wheel. Maybe I’d spy Tessa riding on the back of the deer ghost, but mostly I just hoped she might see me searching the moon for a glimpse of her.












Susan Wingate is a #1 Amazon bestselling award-winning author of over fifteen novels. Susan writes across fiction and nonfiction genres and often sets her stories in the Pacific Northwest where she is the president of a local authors association. She writes full-time and lives in Washington State with her husband, Bob.

WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:

Website: www.susanwingate.com
Blog:    www.susanwingate.com/blog
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/susanwingate
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorsusanwingate





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Pump Up Your Book Virtual Book Tour Kick Off: THE SUMMONED ONES by Darryl A. Woods @darrylawoods #fantasy





THE SUMMONED ONES: BOOK 1 OF FLIGHT TO BERICEA SERIES
Darryl A. Woods
Adult Epic Fantasy

Can a group of college-aged friends from a small Kentucky town actually be the Summoned Ones of prophecy, called to a strange world filled with magic and devastated by war? Can they save the lives of the desperate inhabitants and help them defeat a wicked tyrant? Their epic journey will push them to the limits of their endurance. This unlikely group will discover truths about themselves and experience another world beyond their imagination.

During their journey, they will explore this new world, discover new talents and previously hidden abilities, develop friendships with people they couldn’t have dreamed possible, and will be forced to take actions they would have never considered in any less dire circumstances.

ORDER YOUR COPY

Amazon → https://amzn.to/2JOJ4K7

Barnes & Noble → https://bit.ly/2RlMkAK

Kobo → https://bit.ly/3aTEYMX
Fishpond → https://bit.ly/3e9IDs2




Prologue

 “Rally to the general! Rally to the general!” shouted the tall, lanky soldier as he fought his way toward Darnon.
Kail thought to himself that if they survived this battle, General Darnon would likely discipline him for issuing commands. What he did not know is that Darnon greatly admired his skill with a sword, and regarded Kail as the best he had seen in his long military career.
Over the last nine years of war, the two had engaged in an odd sort of dance. Darnon was keenly aware of the respect his troops had for Kail. A respect not only for his individual prowess in battle, but for his uncanny understanding of the battlefield. As he was now demonstrating, Kail instinctively knew where he and the others were most needed at critical junctures in a battle.
In the beginning, when Kail first joined his army’s ranks and began to positively affect the outcomes of battles, General Darnon decided to reward his new soldier with a promotion. But each time he prepared to issue Kail a field commission, the rogue would do something that forced the general’s hand and demanded reprimand. Darnon came to realize that these altercations were no accident. Over time, he learned what Kail already knew: that he could serve best as a rank-and-file soldier in the thick of battle. So, the two played out their game. Darnon would dole out light punishment and Kail would act indignant, then reluctantly accept his penalty.
“Fight your way to the general!” Kail bellowed again and again over the din of battle.
His general was indeed in trouble, as was the army’s position in the overall battle. Only minutes earlier, Darnon’s command post had been overrun. The enemy was countering in near-perfect fashion the battleplan drawn up that very morning. The general now found himself surrounded on three sides. His skillful use of his massive two-handed sword was the only thing keeping him from being overwhelmed. Three of his officers fought frantically to protect his back, but two were so slowed by wounds, they could barely defend themselves, let alone their commanding officer.
“The general, the general,” Kail continued to scream, as enemy after enemy fell to the savagery of his blades.
Kail fought as he often did, with a medium-length sword in one hand and a long dagger in the other. His blades were literally a blur, the speed and uncanny accuracy of their wielding unmatched. A wedge of soldiers followed in the wake of Kail’s lethal blades. Many of the men owed their lives to the fighter as he mercilessly dispatched the enemies that came toward them. Those not killed outright by Kail were quickly dealt with by the throng of soldiers growing behind him.
“To the general, to the general!” Kail heard his entreaty taken up by soldiers across the battlefield.
The shouts took on a cadence that seemed to cause Kail to intensify his frantic fight to reach the general he respected and admired. Darnon had been so intent on his own fight for survival, it was only now that Kail’s shouts began to register. Allowing himself a quick glance, Darnon made eye contact with his tall soldier. That brief exchange gave both the exhausted warriors the boost they needed to close the gap.
Kail finally reached the ring of enemy soldiers surrounding Darnon. As the skillful swordsman attacked them from behind, each foe quickly fell in turn. The last two made the mistake of wheeling to face their new threat, only to be cleaved nearly in two by the wide arc of the general’s long sword.
The shouts imploring the men to rally to their general continued unabated even though Darnon was temporarily out of harm’s way, surrounded now by dozens of his men. The shouts persisted in no small part because of Kail. Darnon couldn’t comprehend why his usually astute tactician continued to encourage the troops to rally to their general. The only affect apparent to Darnon was that his troops were collapsing into the center of the battlefield, now completely surrounded by the enemy with little hope of escape.
“To the general, to the general!” continued the shouts from Kail and the mass of troops surrounding Darnon. Such conduct exasperated their leader, and he began to second-guess the man he had once trusted implicitly. In this moment of despair, when Darnon thought the lives of the troops he commanded and his own forfeit, he heard the sudden thunder of hooves and the clash of steel. The Jerimassian cavalry exploded into the enemy with such force, the sounds of new battle drowned out the localized fighting. Darnon’s army began cheering as they realized help had arrived, seemingly from nowhere.
The enemy, so sure of complete victory only moments before, now found themselves caught in a vice. Darnon’s surging troops pressed them from the inside out, and they were completely surrounded by the formidable Jerimassian cavalry. The skillful horsemen darted in and out of the enemy’s ranks, inflicting heavy casualties then disappearing before any defense could be marshaled.
As they had done in several prior battles, the enemy troops now turned their aggression on their leaders. Darnon’s troops aided these common soldiers as they attacked their superiors. Darnon and his men knew that the bulk of the enemy fighting force was made up of men coerced into fighting to keep their families alive.
For the last nine years, their foes had served under an evil entity named Zybaro. He overran villages and captured their inhabitants, forcing anyone capable of serving into his army and enslaving the rest. The new soldiers were forced to fight or witness the murders of their loved ones. Enforcing his brutal siege with the aid of powerful, mutated magicians called nollax, Zybaro swept across Malabrim, amassing an immense army. Malabrim was the country General Darnon and Commander Namir now fought, hoping to free as many souls as they could and disrupt Zybaro’s methodical march to total domination.
When the conflict was at last over, the remaining enemy troops dropped their weapons and placed their hands, fingers interlocked, on their heads. Over the years, Darnon and his men had seen this scene play out many times. Without waiting for orders, the soldiers began corralling their now-placid enemy towards an empty area of the field. They would next begin the long process of removing their enemy’s armor and searching for hidden weapons.
Kail set out to help the troops with their task, but made it a point to pass close by the general en route. He spoke softly so that only Darnon could hear.
“I’m sorry for the confusion back there. I saw Commander Namir’s scouts on the ridge. I thought it best to get everyone away from the perimeter.”
Darnon couldn’t help but return the soldier’s unrepentant grin.
The general heard a commotion and turned to see Namir reining in his horse a short distance away. The commander dismounted in the fluid motion of one who has spent a lifetime in the saddle. Leading his well-disciplined steed forward, the reins slack between them, Namir approached
 Without offering a formal greeting, the commander got right to the point. “My scouts reported they saw you having a hard time.” Not waiting for a reply, Namir pressed on, genuinely concerned.
 “Darnon, you know I was ordered north. We stumbled across a mine being worked by the most wretched souls. We couldn’t allow their agony to continue. If we hadn’t taken the time to liberate them, we would have been well over a league from here.”
Darnon face reflected his regret but not shame. He inclined his head, indicating acceptance of just how dire the situation would have been without his friend’s aid.
“The state of those miners was the worst I’ve seen yet. Children as young as four or five years, piled like cordwood, dead of malnutrition and exhaustion. The condition of the ones left alive was so deplorable it made the dead seem like the lucky ones.” Namir paused as he struggled to deliver his dark narrative.
When he continued, contempt edged his voice. “When the guards saw the overwhelming odds and realized they had no hope, they turned on their captives. If not for some of the stronger miners defending themselves, the slaughter would have been far worse.”
Darnon’s pained look and glistening eyes were reflected in Namir’s countenance.
“Between the captured soldiers and those you rescued, at least we saved a few,” Darnon all but whispered.
Namir gestured to the surrounding battlefield. “I agree my friend, but at an ever-increasing price. How long can we keep this up?”
“What alternative do we have? We can’t just leave these people to their own fate. Besides, how long will it be before those miners are replaced by our own families?” Darnon demanded.
“I know how you feel about the prophecies, Darnon, but if the clerics of Hinloose really have found the means to bring the Summoned Ones to our aid, don’t you think we should at least try?” Namir asked, expecting the same skeptical response he had heard so many times before.
Darnon replied in a matter-of-fact tone, “The air has grown cold. This will be the last of this year’s campaigns. Let’s get these people healthy enough for travel and back to Bericea. Once there, we can make plans for the summoning as we await the spring.”













Darryl Woods is a storyteller who hones his craft entertaining coworkers. He also enjoys regaling family and friends with stories of his upbringing in rural Ohio, of the motorized contraptions his father fabricated, and of the timber cutting and sawmill work he did with his father-in-law. With an appetite for reading fantasy, it was inevitable he would choose to write about an epic journey in a world dominated by magic and sword fighting.

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