The DARK CRUSADE

When Jaska next awoke, the dim sun­stone barely illu­mi­nated the cave. Zyrella slept on a pal­let along the oppo­site wall; Ohzikar was absent. Jaska’s stom­ach churned, demand­ing food. So with creak­ing joints and trem­bling mus­cles, he retrieved dried meat and dates from the sup­ply packs. He sat by the pool and ate.

Jaska was dressed in a grey shirt and pants that cinched at the ankles and knees. His pack, weapons, and uni­form lay stacked nearby. No, he thought, those weapons can’t belong to me. Mine fell into the river. These … must have belonged to my students.

He nearly wept as he thought of the young men he had trained for the last few years. But then what sort of men had they truly been? » Read the rest of this entry «

A warm glow emanated halfway up a rock wall on the north end of a dry canyon. Along a nar­row ledge was a cave not vis­i­ble from the canyon floor. Fire­light flick­ered on the walls inside and illu­mi­nated hunt­ing scenes and ani­mal lords painted by tribes­men cen­turies ago. Many of the scenes depicted species long extinct from the region, their pop­u­la­tions dec­i­mated by the inex­orable approach of the north­ern desert.

Zyrella chalked her own sym­bols onto the walls: twist­ing runes that chan­neled the geo­man­tic forces in her sur­round­ings and called upon the divine pow­ers of the great deity Kashomae, the Gen­tle Sav­ior. After Zyrella fin­ished, Ohzikar fas­tened a sheet of can­vas over the cave entrance. Then he joined her at the back of the cave where water, shim­mer­ing like liq­uid fire, trick­led into a small pool.

“That should mask our fire­light.” He frowned at the small pile of brush, dung, and coal. “Not that we’ll be burn­ing much.”

“I’ll con­jure sun­light into a stone tomor­row.” Zyrella didn’t let on to Ohzikar that she was utterly spent. Mak­ing a sun­stone would tax her, and an appren­tice sor­cerer could han­dle such a task with ease.

Ohzikar turned his gaze to a pal­let set into a nook two-thirds of the way back into the cave. » Read the rest of this entry «

The east­ern sky bright­ened as dawn approached while the west remained dark with retreat­ing storm clouds. Along the river­bank, the swollen waters sloshed as they receded. Wind sighed through brakes of reeds and the leaves of three stunted palms. In a nearby stream, Jaska caught two fish bare­handed, despite the pain that tun­neled deep within his mind and the lim­ited range of motion in his neck and left arm. His barely sealed wounds burned with punc­tu­at­ing waves of needle-sharp stabs.

With cold-numbed fin­gers, he ripped the flesh from the bones of the fish. He swal­lowed more than chewed for his jaws would barely open. He was exhausted, but he wouldn’t let him­self fall asleep again. He couldn’t bear to face more night­mares of car­nage and torture.

He needed to get help. Lying here for days would only expose him to ene­mies and preda­tors. It might also mean suc­cumb­ing to his injuries. Jaska splashed his face and drank from the stream. Then he gath­ered a few half-rotten dates that had fallen to the ground and stuffed them into a pocket.

He was ready to move on, but where to? » Read the rest of this entry «

Jaska tum­bled through rag­ing waters, scrap­ing the canyon walls. Though wide hori­zon and starry sky appeared at the canyon’s end, he gave up. Much of his blood now flowed within the Gas­rah and willpower could carry him no further.

But as he sank, the White Tigress shot from the muddy north bank. Water surged around her as she nav­i­gated the cur­rents. She reached Jaska, grabbed his arm gen­tly, despite her mas­sive jaws, and pulled him ashore.

The White Tigress licked his face and pawed at his chest but to no avail. So she chan­neled some of her spirit into him until he breathed again, hop­ing her gam­ble would pay off.

» Read the rest of this entry «

Some­how Zyrella held her­self together as the pow­ers she sum­moned burned within her. She held a slight advan­tage over Grand­mas­ter Salahn who was fatigued from months of sor­cery, and unpre­pared for what Zyrella was attempting.

The Slayer entered the shrine. Zyrella imme­di­ately felt his pres­ence, but she main­tained focus on her rit­ual. To do oth­er­wise would invite dis­as­ter and assure fail­ure. Zyrella could only trust that Ohzikar would delay Bavadi long enough.

~~~~

Jaska stepped into the sanc­tu­ary. As he rolled his weight onto his lead foot, he sensed dan­ger. He sprang back and a tul­war chopped through the space he had occupied.

» Read the rest of this entry «

A Dar­ing Novel of Dag­gers & Dev­il­try by David Alas­tair Hayden

The Palym­far Order, which once pro­tected the land of Hareez, now holds it in an iron grip of ter­ror under the malev­o­lent sor­cerer Grand­mas­ter Salahn and his mind-controlled assas­sin, Jaska the Slayer. As Salahn pre­pares to absorb the immor­tal White Tigress and become a god him­self, Jaska and the palym­far anni­hi­late all who stand in the way.

On the run since Salahn destroyed her tem­ple and mur­dered her fam­ily, Zyrella, last high priest­ess of the White Tigress, is the only one who has the power to free the god­dess. But the White Tigress has other plans, and instead of run­ning away, she releases Jaska. For Salahn has demented ambi­tions reach­ing far beyond immor­tal­ity and only together do Jaska and Zyrella hold a hope of stop­ping him before it’s too late.