Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Excerpt from The Swords of Gregara - Honora
I had no idea what to blog about today, so I'm giving you a sneak peek of my lastest release, The Swords of Gregara - Honora. First the blurb:
They stole her love, her
life and want to steal the secrets secured in her mind. Secrets that could
topple world governments and decimate quadrant security forever. Now
she’s on an epic quest to find out why and make those responsible pay.
Honora Reyestat gave up everything
to become a member of the
esteemed Gregarian Guard. No family, no friends, no connections--nothing
that can ever be used against her. Captured and enslaved, she's become a
prized gladiator for her master. Given the task of training a new slave,
she recognizes a fellow Zolthor
and the son of a tribal leader at that. Her mission changes from
discovery of the enemy's tactics and secrets to returning Joridan to his
people.
Drawn to this fierce woman as no other, Joridan Dolana tries to explain she is wrong. He's not Zolthor, he's Centauri. He was raised on Centauri with his sister. Faced with proof of a father's ultimate betrayal, he must choose between revenge and the protection of this woman who has sworn to never return his love.
Drawn to this fierce woman as no other, Joridan Dolana tries to explain she is wrong. He's not Zolthor, he's Centauri. He was raised on Centauri with his sister. Faced with proof of a father's ultimate betrayal, he must choose between revenge and the protection of this woman who has sworn to never return his love.
Now the excerpt:
“Oww” a woman’s voice
awash with pain reached his ears.
“You disappoint me,
Honora. You continue to try to
escape me. When will you learn?”
asked a whiney voiced man.
The whip struck
flesh. Again the woman moaned but didn’t
scream. She didn’t scream.
When he woke again he
was not alone but the man with the whip was gone. Chained across the room from him, hung by her
wrists, was a woman. He could see the lash
marks on her back. Lash upon lash, new over
old. They obstructed the beautiful tattoo of a dragon on her back. The blood hard to see within the red of the
dragon.
Crawling to her he
released her hands from the chains holding her up. She collapsed in a heap on the floor. He crawled back to his side of the room as
darkness overtook him once more.
*****
The dried blood on her
back cracked with each movement, but she worked through the pain as she
stretched. Breathed deep and accepted
the pain. Her sword weighed heavier in
her hand than usual. More evidence of
the lashing two nights ago. She looked
down at the unconscious man at her feet.
A new recruit. A Zolthor, like herself.
Another reason Perdor punished her for her attempted escape, her sixth
try in as many months.
This last punishment was
the worst. Five lashes. Not enough to incapacitate her but enough to
make her remember. Perdor wanted her to
be able to train the new slave. He wanted
them to be a team, good enough to take on all contenders. He’d be the only owner with two Zolthor
fighting for him. Not just one, but a
team. He was practically wetting himself
in anticipation of the beras that he’ll win with a team of Zolthor fighters.
Again she looked down on
the naked man. Long brown lashes lay
against his cheek. A nice contrast to
his golden blond hair. What color eyes
did they hide? Blue? Green?
Brown perhaps. She’d find out
soon enough.
He was a beautiful
man. Well formed. Broad shoulders. Trim waist.
Long muscular legs. He looked
like a warrior. Would be a good
fighter. Maybe even a good lover as he
appeared well endowed there as well.
He’d awakened from the
drug induced sleep long enough to crawl over and release her from the
chains. For that she was grateful. Her wrists didn’t hurt as much as usual
because of him. Using her blades was
easier than it had been after her previous punishments.
Time to wake up the
sleeping man and get him trained. Time
was short and she intended to make the most of it. He would learn or he would die.
*****
“Abra dit,
Zolthor.”
Cold metal slapped his
buttocks. His naked
buttocks. What the hell?
“Jūsų mokymas prasideda,”
said the female voice in words he didn’t understand.
He swatted at the
irritating object, sat up immediately, reeled from whatever drug they’d given
him, and nearly fell back to the ground. “My name is Joridan Dolana, tensign in the
Centaurian Army. CA number 5551234”
“Oh, an Army man,” she
scoffed speaking perfect Centauri. “You look like a Zolthor, therefore you are a
Zolthor. I am Honora. Your trainer. I will teach you to use a sword. So whether you are Zolthor or not, you will
fight like one when I’m done with you.”
“I’m not
Zolthor. You must know since you’re
speaking Centauri.”
“I speak many languages. You
carry the tribal mark on your hip. You
are Zolthor.”
“That’s a birthmark. My
sister has one just like it and she looks nothing like me or you. She has black hair and the clearest, most
vibrant green eyes you’ve ever seen.”
“Exactly. A tribal
tattoo. I have one as well.” She pulled the waistband of her short pants
down to reveal the mark. A small
crescent moon on her hip. “They are
given to every Zolthor at birth. You say
she has clear green eyes, like a jewel?
Answer me Joridan. Are they like
a jewel? Do they slant up on the ends?”
“Yes, Why?” He looked down
at her hip and then at his, not believing what he saw. They were the same marks, same orange
color. Gram told them it was a birth
mark that every family member had one.
She’d even showed them hers to prove it.
She’d lied. “Even if what you say
is true, I am still Centaurian, not Zolthor.
I know nothing about you or your people.
They mean nothing to me.”
“No reason.” She knew of
only one person who had eyes the color he described. So clear a green, they pierced you with their
brilliance. She looked down at the man
she now believed to be his son. A
Valmud’s son. “It matters not whether you
believe it. Perdor believes it and he
wants you trained.”
“Water. I need water,” he said. The ground cold on his
naked buttocks.
The woman, whatever her
name was, handed him a metal cup filled with a brownish liquid. He drank it, needing it regardless of its
unappetizing color. Now he remembered what she said. Honora. But who was she? For that matter, where was he?
He looked around him and
saw only a small room, with two openings.
Where there should have been doors instead were just empty archways in
the walls, one leading outside the building and one to the inside. Coming from the outside was the din of metal
hitting metal yet he saw no one.
“Tell me where I am,” he
commanded over the sounds. “What is that
noise?”
“You’re on
Gregara. You’re now a slave owned
by Perdor, Valmud of the Tokina tribe.
That noise is gladiators
training. They are in the yard next to
this one. You will not see them yet.”
“I am no man’s slave.”
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