Catching Up, Part 2: A Preview of another upcoming Novel
I am working on another novel which is tentatively entitled The Jade Crown. It is another tale of the Sword of Vathir, and I am enjoying it immensely. I will continue to update you as it progresses, for as long as I still feel like it. Until then, here’s an excerpt of the opening of the book for you to…I don’t know, ignore? That’s what happens with most of my books anyway.
Also, real talk? I only posted this second blog because I thought it looked really pathetic only having the first one all by itself.
Anyway, here’s the excerpt, to the right. Why did I arrange it this way?
Honestly? I don’t know. I was going to do it all in a straight line, but I must have hit something wrong and split them into columns; and even more honestly? I didn’t want to spend the time to figure out how to fix it. But hey, it’s a free chapter of an upcoming book that nobody will want to buy on a blog that no one reads; what more do you want from me?
XiaoLong waited under the sparse canopy of the crop of trees jutting out from in-between the rocks. It was unusual in the rest of the world for such large plant life to grow at such an altitude, but the protective ring of the mountains which surrounded this valley created an almost tropical climate within. So that, while the highlands to the west were nothing but gravel and snow at this same elevation, here, in the Hidden Valley, it was all lush, green, rain forest and verdant undergrowth. He breathed rapidly, swift little gasps of air which he exhaled just as quickly as he let them in. In those few moments when he recognized it, he made a conscious effort to control his breath; to slow the inhalations and hold it in a moment before letting it rush out of his lungs. But his mind soon returned to the many concerns which currently harried him, and it could no longer concentrate on so unimportant a matter as consistent breath; and he began to gradually hyperventilate himself once more.
He shielded himself behind the trunk of a blossoming cherry tree, its bright pink petals whipping around the canyon on the wings of the stiff, threatening wind. It was not cold, exactly; but it was most certainly not warm, either. But this might be our only chance…
The path between the rocks was narrow, and opened on a gigantic gorge which separated him and his fellow warriors from the Floating Temple. A bridge had been built between them, once a beautiful structure with polished handrails that had been kept a bright, burnished red. Yet over the centuries of neglect, that paint had been allowed to fade and flake away; so that now the railings appeared more like the dying flesh of some sickening reptile, covered with a loathsome, scabrous disease. Only a single pair of the sentinels stood guard over the bridge at the moment, where there were usually at least ten. But I’m sure there’s more behind those walls…
The temple was still a marvel, its architecture unmatched in the history of the valley. Had they been granted access to its secrets over the last few hundred years, they may have even learned to duplicate it. Were it not for those damned sentinels.
“How do you think XunWu is faring?” XianPing asked.
XiaoLong did not turn to look at her as he responded. He kept his eyes focused on the Temple, and the guards watching over it. “He has accomplished his task,” he said simply. “He knew what it might cost.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “I just…”
She’s just nervous. Worried. We all are.
“He volunteered to lead the sentinels away towards the coast. He is a brave man,” XiaoLong said simply. “Let us not waste his efforts. Are you ready?”
“I am, Master,” XianPing said with a respectful bow of her head. The twenty warriors behind her nodded with her, but said nothing.
“I am not your Master today,” XiaoLong said with a sad look at the men and women behind him: men and women whom he had trained for over two decades, prepared them for this very purpose. How many of them will be left when the sun sets? “I am as you are: a soldier, fighting for our people. For our freedom.”
“We are with you, Master,” XianPing answered, covering a fist with her palm and bowing to him formally – despite his prior request that she not be so formal.
Once again, the soldiers behind her mimicked the traditional genuflection in unison.
“All right then. It is time. Draw your swords.”
Steel rasped against steel as the wide, curved sabers slid out of their sheathes with a squealing sort of hiss. XiaoLong did not issue any further orders: he just ran out from behind the tree and out onto the bridge, and his loyal warriors followed.
They shouted out battle cries in defiance at the top of their lungs; some of them hurled vile epithets at their ancient, immovable enemy. Others cried out the words of their code, the precepts which their master had himself taught them – and which had been taught to him by his own shifu. And some simply roared unintelligibly, their call void of anything other than defiance.
It was not halfway across the bridge when the arrows came. XiaoLong ignored them: the sentinels were constant, vigilant. But they were not exactly the best shots. Still, he heard a young man cry out in pain, a gurgling bubble of last breath before he toppled over the edge of the rail and fell wordlessly – silently – into the seemingly bottomless chasm below. He didn’t need to turn around; he knew simply from the sound of his voice who the first casualty in this battle was. ZhuAnPing; his newest pupil, XianPing’s younger brother, barely even a man. He had left his home because he believed in their cause. Had abandoned wealth, a position at court, and the betrothed hand of a beautiful bride. Because he wanted her to be free when he finally he accepted it. There was precious little chance of that now.
The two sentries before the barred temple gates stepped forward as XiaoLong crossed the bridge. He leapt and kicked the first in to face with his heel, slashing down at the other with his blade as he descended. The sentinels made no sound as they were struck; they did not even grunt. The Second simply toppled down to the ground, dropping its spear, and the first was pushed back against the door. Before XiaoLong’s feet returned to the earth, XianPing had skewered the monster with her spear, pinning it against the door.
“The key!” XiaoLong shouted.
GuoWei dutifully came forward at the command, pulling the large, brass relic from a pocket in his robe. As he approached the door, his face blanched: the sentinel that had been pinned there by XianPing’s halberd was struggling silently to pull the weapon from his chest, its face covered by a traditional mask, but its eyes empty, horrible.
“It’s still moving,” he said in shock.
“Of course it is,” XiaoLong barked at him. GuoWei had stopped moving in involuntary horror, and more importantly their only way of entering the Temple was frozen with him.
XiaoLong had trained them all for this, warned them about the sentinels; prepared them in every possible way. But this was the first time most of them had seen the humanoid creatures up close. They were not all dealing with it as effortlessly as XianPing had.
And for GuoWei, at least, that hesitation proved fatal. Something fell out of the sky and landed on top of him; something large, and about the shape of a living woman. It was clothed like a woman, clad in armor which had once gleamed brightly of polished brass and burnished steel. But now it was covered in rust and dried, crusted blood. The sentry landed without a sound directly on top of the stunned young man, crushing his skull and snapping his neck even as it was impaled on his sword.
The sentinels atop the walls, apparently not content with ineffectually firing arrows down at them, had started throwing themselves down, instead.
XiaoLong did not waste time mourning his fallen pupil; he could not afford it. He shoved the unmoving sentinel away from the man’s body and began rummaging in GuoWei’s pockets for the key. “Where is it?” He heard himself shout absently.
“Master, hurry!” XianPing urged from the gate. She still held the sentry there against the door with the tip of her spear, but it began to struggle more violently. Soon enough it would free itself.
All around them, more of the sentinels were falling from the sky, sometimes crashing down atop the Master of the Crushing Heel’s pupils, sometimes landing directly on the rocks. One even bounced so far that it sailed out over the edge of the island and fell wordlessly – just as ZhuAnPing had before it – down into the mist and fog, lost forever. Most, however, were still, unmoving on the ground. He knew it would not last.
“Where is it?!” XiaoLong shouted again. The key was not in any of GuoWei’s pockets, and it was not in the dead warrior’s hands, either. It seemed almost to have vanished. Then, the sentinel that had impaled itself on GuoWei’s sword stood up to its feet, the sword still stuck in its guts – or what would have been its guts, if it were still alive – and held up a hand: grasped tightly between its blackened, desiccated fingers, he could see flashes of coppery brass; trailing out of its palm was the red ribbon to which the key had been attached. If he hadn’t known it to be impossible, XiaoLong would have sworn that the beast was actually grinning at him; mocking him.
That’s when he knew for certain that they had lost.
“They’re getting back up!” HuFei shouted in alarm.
“They always get back up,” XianPing shouted back.
“Fall back!” XiaoLong ordered suddenly, as he saw the formerly inert shapes by which they had been surrounded slowly drag themselves back up to their feet, weapons still clutched in cadaverous, undying fists. Gods in heaven, there are still too many of them…
“But Master, the gate,” XianPing argued. “The crown! If we can just open the gate, and find the crown-“
“Fall back!” The Master interrupted her curtly, practically shouting in her face.
Surprised by his violent outburst, XianPing was taken aback; and she relaxed the pressure against her spear which had kept the monster pinned against the door.
It struck rapidly, like a jackal pouncing upon a wounded fawn. It had no weapons in its hands, so it simply threw off its helmet – exposing a blackened, scarred husk that was barely more than a skull – and tore at her throat with its horrid, yellow teeth.
XianPing screamed as it bit into her flesh. It did not bother spitting that first chunk of skin and muscle out; it had no need. It simply dropped it down into the cavern which had replaced its stomach, and chewed at her neck again, wrapping its arms around her in a violent embrace which, try as she might, the warrior-woman could not break. Her arms thrashed against its shoulders, her legs kicked against its trunk as it lifted her up into the air. But all of her efforts were futile. She continued to scream, and weep as the monster ate away at her neck. Blood spurted against the walls, and her wails began to resemble less the cries of a human being, and more the squealing of a pig being slaughtered. Her bright, red fluid washed over the beast’s chest, soaking it in her life essence. And then, when she had stopped struggling, the sentinel relaxed its grip on her shoulders, took her head in both hands, and almost casually ripped it off of her body.
HuFei ran up and tried to tear it away from her; tried to slash at it with his saber. But its armor protected its arms from his attacks, and it seemed otherwise unconcerned with his assault. And then, as if to thank him for his efforts, another sentinel walked up beside him and stuck a spear into his guts. Before he had the chance to scream, a second smashed his brains in with a large, spiked mace.
But XiaoLong did not stay to see them fall. He had ordered the retreat twice; had seen the Horror’s first bite into XianPing’s neck, and he knew what it meant. She was already lost, as was any who stayed to fight any longer. A handful of his more obedient pupils followed after him, no more than five – he hadn’t bothered to count them yet. The rest were been torn apart by the undying sentinels at the gates, their bodies thrown down into the river hundreds of feet below.
Damned GuoWei: if he had only kept moving, hadn’t stopped. If they have been able to get the key in the gate, to open the doors, there was a chance they would have been able to outrun the sentinels. To race through the courtyard and into the temple itself, and barricade themselves inside. Then they would have had time to find the Jade Crown. And then we could have ended this war, for good.
But GuoWei had stopped. And even that short delay had doomed them all. Or at least, all those who had not the presence of mind to flee.
Yet XiaoLong was not deterred. When XianPing’s head had been ripped off, he had lost his most trusted subordinate; and his other adjutant was most likely dead near the coast, along with the rest of his diversionary force. But they were not defeated, not yet. For there was still one last, desperate chance. One final arrow which he had withheld in his quiver, reserved for only the most perilous of occasions. One man, who still might be able to help him.
The Holy Immortal Warrior.
XiaoLong would return to his secret, underground citadel and pray to the gods for help in locating him. Hopefully they would know how; for I, certainly, haven’t the faintest fucking clue.