Elude #2… — Derek Barton

Capture hh

Like a bolt of lightning, Vic sprinted back into the house, nearly knocking the screen door off its hinges.

He blazed a path through the living room, hopped over a clothes basket in the hallway and bulldozed open the back porch door. The heavy footfalls of the police officer hadn’t left his ears and he could hear them chasing after him.

“OH MY GOD, VICENTE! WHAT DID YOU DO?” Cat screamed from somewhere in the front of the house or the front yard.

“Stop!” Reccard called out to him, he already sounded winded.

Vic kept his pace and scrambled up and over the backyard gate. When his feet hit the gravel of the alley way, he shot to the west. His best chance was to get closer to the campus, get among a crowd. He needed time. Time to know what had just happened and time to think of his next move.

Above all, Vic didn’t want to go back to a cell or have to leave Cat again. Until today, he put faith in the idea that things were going to work out for them. Cat would get back into her schooling, finding herself and making a career. He would be careful, avoid trouble and maybe even do something to better himself.

But was that all dusted? He wondered to himself as he pelted headlong to the end of the alley.

There was a struggling strip mall a few blocks west that was his first goal. The parking lot would be busy enough at this late hour of the afternoon. He would make for the Spry’s Grocery Store. Plenty of shoppers getting tonight’s dinner.

Sirens blared at the other end of the alley behind him. A police cruiser barreled down the from the other end of the alley trying to play catchup.

Not breaking stride, he cut right at the end and pumped his legs faster. He had to get to that parking lot first. He heard several dogs beginning to bark at the commotion and the siren.

What the hell was in his car? His thoughts whirled around the image of blood dripping in a steady stream from holes in his trunk. I didn’t see anything in the house and no one came after me. How can this be happening?

Three blocks ahead he saw the sign for the grocery store and the various tiny, oddity mall stores. As he knew it would be, cars were streaming in and out of the lot. He weaved around them and then made a straight line for the entrance.

Sweat poured down his neck and between his shoulders. His black curly hair was matted at the sides around his ears. Vic crossed the entry and stopped catching his breath. He knew he had out ran the first officer, but he only had seconds before they arrived in the lot.

He tried to not attract any more attention but walked in a brisk pace toward the back. Below the neon sign for the Produce, an arrow pointed toward the restrooms. A man in his late fifties guided a cart with stacks of open boxes through a set of double plastic doors.

“Excuse me, didn’t see you. Need a window in one of those swinging doors,” he complained.

Vic nodded only and swung around him. In the back, lighting was very poor. One of the fluorescents flickered and buzzed like an angry bee. A cloying, rotted citrus smell bowled into him and nearly made him gag up his late lunch. More stacks of fruit boxes take up the majority of the room and line two of the cement walls. A desk and a corkboard covered in Postit notes saddled the other wall. An open doorway led to an even darker, back stock room and docking port. He could see a glowing-red exit sign above a metal set of double-doors.

Without thinking, he pushed the door open and triggered a piercing alarm.

Damn! Damn damn damn, he cursed to himself. He knew better. This would be obvious; he’d just blew his advantage.

“HEY KID!” The produce clerk returned to the room and called after him.

He dashed to the left, avoided the sloping dock ramp and went parallel to the back of the strip mall shops. Around the corner at the back end, he shot up and over a low, cinder block wall. He landed on a tree-clustered, dirt bank. Ahead of him he spotted several two-story town houses.

You ever in a race, change it up – find new clothes fast! It will give you another chance to confuse’em.

Another pearl of jail time wisdom from his former cell mate, Rory James Cole.

He froze in his tracks as an idea popped into his head. Rory’s younger brother, Durojaiye “DJ” Cole might be willing to help him out. The two had been in the same grade in Brinton Middle School, but Vic had hung out more with Rory back then. And the police wouldn’t have him as one of Vic’s known associates.

Looking through a window of the nearest town house, it appeared empty. He removed his shirt and wrapped his fist in it. Praying to himself that the owners didn’t have an alarm, he broke the back door’s window pane.

Once inside he was quick with a decision and raced upstairs. There were three bedrooms. He chose the master bedroom.

The walk-in closet had exactly what he wanted: a pullover ASU sweatshirt, grey sweatpants and a baseball cap.

They won’t be looking for another college student, they will be looking for a hispanic kid in a teeshirt and jeans. He grinned to himself.

When he begun to untie his sneakers, he discovered that they were stained red with gore.

He rummaged through the dirty clothes thrown on the floor and lucked upon some oversized sneakers. He also discovered hidden among the dirty clothes a matching ASU backpack.

He stuffed a few more extra sets of clothes in the backpack.

Next to the bed was a black oak dresser with a lamp, several worn out paperbacks and framed photos. He picked up a photo of a young couple on a white sand beach. Seeing the smiling faces of the occupants gave him a twinge of guilt and he started to go for his wallet.

“Shit. No. Sorry, I may need this money. You aren’t on the run from the police.”

He spoke the words, but it was Rory, always the survivor, that was inside his head. Don’t be no damn fool!

He left by the front door and walked with faked confidence. He carried the sneakers and stuffed his shaking hands in his jeans pockets.

Several blocks over he made a beeline for the entrance to the Tempe Town Lake Park. More sirens were working their way through the neighborhoods and closing in. He lowered the brim of the baseball cap another inch down.

The sun had finally dipped below the horizon and the park lights were stubborn to show themselves. He crossed over 1st Street, cutting through another pair of town house complexes.

In the shadows of the shoreside, he threw his jeans and sneakers into the flowing water of the man-made lake.

A police helicopter flew west of him, headed to the neighborhoods by the grocery store no doubt. Instinct still told him to take the extra steps and remain out of the light of the streetlamps.

Now that he had accomplished goal number one, he rested at a metal picnic table. It was one of his unique strengths: calm under pressure. His mind was quick to compartmentalize most situations, or obstacles. Time after time, it walked him through situations in juvie or jail.

I can’t stay here long, he determined as his mind worked through his options. Light Rail! Yeah, that’s good. It will take me over to DJ’s neighborhood and I can still keep within the crowds.


“Yeah? That does sound just like Rory.”

The two were in the living room on beaten down leather couches. A haze of Mint-Madness vape smoke floated through the room. DJ pulled again on his brass vaporizer.

Unlike his brother who was a beanpole and looked like he missed too many meals, DJ was near 5’7, stocky and with short, tight dreads. He also had a never-ceasing smirk on his lips.

“Your brother with just a few words could get a prison riot started in a convent!” Vic lamented and laughed.

“I know, right?”

“But he never failed me or left me out there to hang. I owe him a lot. When is his trial date?”

DJ got up and crossed to a cluttered kitchen counter. The court summons was buried in mail and loose papers.

“Uh… here.” He snatched it up and read it to himself. “Next May. May 9th.”

Rory was facing his fifth appearance in court for a Breaking and Entering charge. This conviction would garner him the designation “career criminal”.

The two went quiet and DJ plopped back down on the couch with a bowl of cheese puffs.

“You sure it’s cool for me to stay on your couch tonight?”

“Sure. Sure.”

“I will be out before 5. They’ll never know I was here and you won’t get any heat for this.” Vic was grateful on the chance the kid was taking on his behalf.

“Would you mind handing me that bottle,” DJ pointed at a Coors that stood on the corner of a glass coffee table. “So… you didn’t even know this girl?”

Vic shook his head and rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. “I went in the back door — there was a note telling me the front door was broken. And when no one answered I tried to find her.”

“Dude… you went inside?”

“I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. Too much sun baking my head today I guess.”

“What is your plan for tomorrow?”

Vic took a long drink from his own Coors bottle. “I don’t know, at least not yet. I freaked out. Panicked with that cop right there looking at that puddle.”

DJ ate the last puff and stood up. Yawning, he said, “I am going to check the news on the computer and see what they are reporting. I can tell you in the morning before you leave. Get some rest. I am sure that this will work out. You didn’t do anything.”

He stated this as a matter of fact, but his eyes asked the question.

Vic replied in a hushed tone, “Nothing.” Then he raised his empty bottle with his own inquiring eyes.

“You will want to take it easy on those. Clear head is going to save you in the morning. Here, give me that backpack. I will throw those clothes in the washer. You never know what might be on them… College students are walking STDs these days, you know?”

Five minutes later, DJ called out from the back of the apartment, “Oh, hey! Are you hungry? I got some free pizza in the fridge.”


He chuckled, “They delivered this pizza here when you were in the shower, but I didn’t order it. The driver said his shift was over anyway and he was going to report the owners as a ‘no show’. So he lets me just take it.”

“Glad my luck is rubbing off on you.” They laughed, but it felt forced and awkward. He was beyond exhaustion and the day’s events were starting to hit home.

“JESUS DUDE!” DJ cursed.

There was sheer terror in his voice.

“WHAT’S WRONG?” Vic shouted back.

When there was no answer, he worked up his courage and went to find his friend.

DJ stood next to the washing machine, the backpack spilled open on top of it. A pair of pale white hands, butcher-cut at the wrists, were nesting inside.

“You son-a-bitch!”

“I… No, this…” The beer lurched up in his stomach and he vomited suddenly into the corner of the room.

From over his shoulder, Vic heard, “I am at 1984 W Dunlap. I need a police officer NOW!” DJ spoke into his cell phone.

He then put a hand over the phone. Through clenched teeth, “Do the right thing, bro. Turn yourself in.”

Vic could not even look at him. His eyes remained locked on the bloody stumps. The finger tips were painted in bright pinks, yellows and polka-dots of blood.



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D O  N O T  M I S S  O U T !!

Elude… — Derek Barton

Bloody hand
Vicente Vargas leaned forward and studied the eyes staring back at him. A tiny girl with a crown of feathery fine blond hair and blue, crystalline eyes held a dandelion up in the last of the summer day’s rays. Her face was scrunched up, her brow furrowed as she spotted the tiny white spider perched on the flower.
The shot was a perfect story to Vic. When he selected his “keepers” there was a significant rule that he made: each shot must actually tell a story. He was not a wedding photographer or even a mall hack that took portraits. He considered himself an artist.
He tagged the pictured and then saved it on his hard drive. He decided to feature this portrait among his growing collection. One day he would get his shot and have a showing.
I know you will make Mama proud. You and your sister will show the world. The voice of his late mother floated through his mind. She always said that to him as he grew up. It might have even been one of the last things she ever said to him. He couldn’t remember.
Ava Vargas shipped him and Cat off stateside five years back. Mama had saved and sacrificed years to get enough money to send them ahead to a house she had managed to mortgage. The plan then was to rejoin them in a year. He was old enough to watch his baby sister on his own by then.
But Hurricane Irene took her life. Flooded the city and drowned their dreams away.
“You can’t hear that?” Cat shouted from the kitchen doorway.
“Your phone is ringing! I could hear it through my headphones. Vic, you got to go!” She scolded him.
His sister, Catalina was only sixteen herself. Yet, in many ways since his return, she had become the mother figure.
He hated the change.
“Fine.” He groaned, shut off the computer monitor and gave up resisting he call.
He had worked for six months now as a driver for an internet food service called Forerunner. It barely paid him more than minimum wage and even the tips were insulting. When an order came in, he would go to the desired location, pick up the food and then deliver the meal. Simple enough.
Yet, he hated every minute of it and often hated most of the lazy, rich kids that used the service like toilet paper. Most likely it was his emotions that garnered his lack of tips.
The clock on the wall flashed at him. “The power went out again?”
“No. Some sort of ‘brown out’ hit the entire area. Too many ACs working overtime, bro.”
Bro. Cat was in some mood. Her mouth got as sharp as her wit when she stressed over something or something was bothering her.
Since his release and moving back into the house, he realized that he had lost a lot of ground with Cat. In the three and a half years he was in juvie and then jail, she had grown up. His mistakes forced her to.
Friends of his parents had taken her in after the trial. Vic had been her only rock back then. He let her down and literally abandoned her. She had needed him. But on one stupid night of stupid decisions, it all led to a stupid joyride.
He swept up his cell phone, walked through the kitchen doorway, and down the hall.
Poking his head past her bedroom door, “What’s going on?”
“Cat… What is it?” He persisted.
She shook her head and pretended to be scanning the words of her text book in front of her.
“You know you can talk to me. I have been aro—”
“—yeah you sure are with it all. Jail gives you a well-rounded education these days so I hear.”
He took in a breath between his teeth as her words shocked and stung him. With that, he rotated on the heels of his sneakers and stormed through the back door in the kitchen.
As the screen slammed shut, he heard a muffled, “Hey Vic, I’m s—”
On days like this he sincerely missed his mother. She had a gift with knowing people and their emotions. Always Ava Vargas knew the exact words to say.
He rubbed at his nose, irritated and frazzled by his sister’s taunt. It was a bad habit.
Throwing his bag into the back seat of their beat-up Chevrolet Cobalt, he revved the engine for effect. Then he plastered his foot on the gas and peeled out of the driveway into the street.
Wonk Wonnnnk Woonk.
It was his cell phone again. The phone vibrated like a mad bee on the seat next to him. Since he hadn’t accepted the order, it was probably a reminder call. If he ignored three calls in a row, it would be a mark against him.
“It’s the Vic signal, V-man! Another daring adventure and another damsel needs saving!” The joke broke his sour mood and a smirk cracked his lips. He understood that his jokes were lame, but they amused him at least.
At the first red light on Washington, he answered the cell phone. On the screen there was a flashing bike symbol with 4R centered upon it. He tapped it.
An address appeared and then Google Maps opened automatically for him. It zoomed in and identified his target and the time he’d take getting to it.
1718 Lioness Estates Dr,  Scottsdale, AZ  85252
Scottsdale? That might just save this day. Bound to have a few extra dollars for a tip, no?
The phone blipped a tiny bell sound and a text came through:
FAT JACKS BURGERS — 608 Mill Ave. Tempe, AZ 85281. Two Jumbo Boy Burgers with fries, one Spicy Chicken Sandwich. One order of onion rings and three Medium Cokes. Ask for Shari.
Per Google, he was fifteen minutes away from the restaurant.
He sighed aloud, texted ACCEPT and wiped at his forehead. Already beads of sweat had popped up. Today, the temperature in Phoenix was a “hair dryer 110 degrees”. Not quite “stick your head in an oven 118 degrees” yet — guaranteed by the annoying weatherman on Channel 17 for the weekend.
As he cut across town along University Drive, he shut off the car radio which played an obnoxious rap version of Mac the Knife. Even at his age, he knew that some classics you left alone. Glancing at the dashboard clock, he decided he would log off after the delivery and call it a day.
Close to 6 pm in the evening, ten minutes after picking up the meal order, he pulled into the gravel drive that led up to the large ranch house in Scottsdale.
He balanced the flimsy, drink carrier and three bags of food as he closed the driver door with his right leg. When he turned back to face the house, he spotted a piece of pink paper flapping from the glass french door of the house.
As he stepped up to the porch he could see that it read, “Come around the side, door is not working. Sorry! Shari”
Vic sighed loudly, went back down the path and took to the right side. He wasn’t sure if she meant the right, but this side had a cement walkway that ran parallel to the brick facade of the house.
In the back, he found a sparkling greenhouse with a single door propped open with an red-orange brick.
Vic wedged his foot inside so he could squeeze through. Along the back of the greenhouse, dozens of flower pots were arranged in tight clusters. While down the middle of the room were rows of hanging plants and flowers. The strong scent of citrus filled the entire structure. He didn’t see any other doors to the house.
“Hello?” Vic called out.
No answer.
“I am here with your Forerunner order? Hello?”
He walked along the center aisle where it turned to the left. There it ended with a metal screen door with another wooden door behind it. The window in the wood door had closed beige curtains.
Where are they? C’mon! It is too hot in here to play this game. He thought to himself. Sweat trickled down his back and wetted the pits to his black teeshirt.
A sink and dirt-caked shelf were set next to the screen door. He dropped the food items down so he could knock.
Still silence and no answer. He was fast getting irritated. He stood with his hands on his hips, standing indecisive.
“HELLO?? ANYONE THERE??” He shouted, cupping his hands to magnify the words.
Perhaps she was upstairs or had headphones on? He tried the door handle. Both doors were unlocked. He left the food and proceeded inside. He had no idea how this was to haunt him — that this was the worst mistake of his life.
“Uh… Shari? I have your food order. Are you home?”
The foyer on the other side of the doors was dark and musty. A light filtered through from another room, coming through an archway and drew him in further.
It led through to a cramped seating room. There were three love seats, a tiny, unused fireplace and a desk covered in old mail and papers. On the same wall as the fireplace, he saw another archway.
From there, he walked into a much bigger living room with two couches that faced each other across a glass coffee table. Twin book cabinets on opposite walls and a long stairwell went up in the east corner. Thick brown curtains were drawn close and the room buried in charcoal shadows.
She’s got to be upstairs.
It was nearly pitch black. On the way to the stairs, Vic slipped and fell face first into the back of the couch. His left hand was suddenly coated. He raised it up before his eyes.
Rivulets of blood, warm and syrupy, trailed along his arm. His jeans’ leg was sticking to his calf where it laid in a spreading puddle.
“Oh… oh, shit!” He scrambled to his knees and backpedaled to the previous meeting room.
Vic panicked and fear gripped his chest. His breath came out raspy.
There is too much of it! His mind screamed. Too much to survive that! I have to get out of here!
He bolted back to the greenhouse and raced out to his car. As he put the car in drive, Vic didn’t even notice that the pink note had disappeared from the front door.
Back on University, he spotted a dirty, run down gas station. He drove behind it, hoping for an outside bathroom. He exhaled a big breath when he spotted something better — it had an outdoor sink set up.
He got out, looking around for anyone to be watching. It was all clear. Carefully, he washed the blood from his arm and then took his pants off to wash the blood from his leg.
Later, as he is waiting at a stop light two minutes from his house, he tried to make sense of what had happened. Sweat coated his entire 6’2 frame and he still shook with tremors.
“I had to leave,” he whispered to himself.
She’s got to be already dead and I cannot be near that! I am just out on parole and they’ll not listen to me. No part of it! Won’t take the word of a Puerto Rican felon! Awww, shit! What am I going to do?
His rambling worries continued to rant inside his head. A car horn blared at him. He hadn’t seen the light change.
When he rolled around the corner, he spotted his worst fear: a single police car parked in his driveway.
What? How?? They could not have known anything yet. I just found it. What is going on?
Since the squad car took up the available parking area, he parked in an empty spot on the street in front of the house.
Vic sees in the front window Cat speaking to a lone patrol officer. She looked upset and emotional. He swallowed hard and took a quick spot check of his jeans. They are drying, but he doesn’t see any tell-tale signs of the blood.
Steeling himself, he straightened his shoulders and stepped across the yard to the front door.
“This is ridiculous! Isn’t this profiling?” Cat snapped at the male police officer. The officer was tall and towered over her. He was white, of course, and had a shock of black and white hair. He was in late 40s, his weight pushing 250 at least and he had an air of impatience about him.
“It is not profiling. I am just doing my due-diligence and following protocol on any tip given to the police department.”
“What is this about?” Vic spoke loud enough to make them both jump at his sudden appearance.
The officer glared over his shoulder to see who was speaking while he lowered his hand to his belt, close to his service revolver.
“What is going on here, sir?” He rephrased in a more calm demeanor, trying to ease back the dial on the tension.
“Who are you?” The officer demanded.
“Vicente Vargas, sir.” He used the learned, downward cast of his eyes, the non-threatening tone and the lowered shoulders posture he mastered in jail.
When you talk with the boss, this was how you talk. Anything different welcomed triple the trouble coming your way. His former cell bunkie had educated him.
Officer Reccard studied him. “There was a break-in down the street at Mennen’s Stereo Warehouse last week. Lots of equipment and items stolen. A tip came in that a young teenage girl by the name of Catalina Vargas might have been involved. Her and her boyfriend Jimmy Brower may have information on it.”
“That’s crap!”
“Watch your tone, son!”
“My sister is not involved. I am telling you.”
“They already searched the house, Vic. Didn’t find anything.”
“Did you have a warrant?”
Officer Reccard raised his eyebrows in surprise, ”Oh? Do I need one? Nothing to hide, right?  Everyone is innocent here.”
“Uh… no. You’re right. We have nothing to hide. We don’t have anything.”
He walked over to where Vic was standing in the doorway and leaned in toward his face. In a hushed whisper, “So… I’m not going to find anything in that car either right? Or would you like to wave that holier-than-thou rights stuff in my face again? Make me get a warrant?”
Vic shook his head and stared at the space of the floor between his feet.
Reccard brushed past him and headed out to the car. Vic and Cat followed after him without a word.
As they crossed the poorly mowed lawn sprinkled with weeds, the cop froze in his tracks. Vic looked around the bulk of the officer and spied something dripping from the Cobalt’s back end. Something that dripped and puddled under the trunk by the driver’s back tire.
It was warm and syrupy…

Upcoming Projects — Derek Barton

Capture ll


I have gotten some inquiries on the progress I have had on certain projects (especially concerning my sequel, The Bleeding Crown) so I thought I would send out a quick update.


THE BLEEDING CROWN — At this time, I am almost a quarter to half way through the first draft.  I spent a lot of time organizing, structuring the story line and developing the characters along with their backstories.  My projected goal is to finish the draft around September or October.

On a side note, I have been kicking around the possibility of a third novel in Wyvernshield, making this a trilogy.  I have some interesting paths I could go down, but I have not fully decided one way or another.  And since I am not done with the second novel’s first draft, it is too early to start plotting out the third.  One thing that is definitely making me hesitate is that I want the series to have a complete whole overall story and not two complete stories and one disjointed story thrown in the mix.  If that makes any sense.

CONSEQUENCES WITHIN CHAOS AUDIO BOOK — A sad development here.  My voice actress had too much on her plate at this time and just could not dedicate the necessary time to get this done within the time frame I was looking for.  So… I have submitted a proposal on Audible.com and I am waiting on audition proposals.  My goal was for the end of July, but with this delay I am not sure it will happen that soon.  Audible states that once an actor has been chosen, it could be done in 3 to 8 weeks give or take the size of the novel.  My book is estimated to be 11 hours recording.  Keep your fingers crossed with me!

CONSEQUENCES WITHIN CHAOS COLLECTIBLES — I cannot yet go into too much detail on this, but I have made some inquiries, connections and working relations with several sources in an effort to create some character collectible items.  A calendar set, magnetic bio cards, foil posters and a designer deck of poker cards may be on the horizon!

GOODREAD GIVEAWAY AND A GREAT INDIE BOOK CONTEST — I have been promoting the Goodreads Giveaway a lot, but I am also working out a big contest with at least one other independent author.  More to come by July, but I am getting pretty excited about what we can offer and what I have in store for you guys!

A NEW HORROR BLOG SERIES — I am working on a new story line and series for you, my horror lovers!  Inspiration struck and it won’t stop haunting me.  And since I need blog ideas, I have decided to work this out through the blog like I did with In Four Days.

Plus I am still working on the horror novel with my father T.D. Barton; be on the lookout for sneak peek chapters of that as well.

IN FOUR DAYS AUDIO BOOK — In current talks with another voice actor for my novella.

As you can see, I am truly working hard this year! hahaha

Last note, as July is approaching I am astounded and thrilled to realize that this blog and website will be celebrating its ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY!!!  Thank you all for your continued support and helping me grow this dream each day!

Lots of things in the works and more to come — exciting times!

Talk again soon!

A Brief Glimpse… — Derek Barton

Capture kk

Here is a tiny morsel… A free grocery market sample of a chapter in my rough draft of The Bleeding Crown.  Enjoy!!

Taihven rapped his knuckles upon the wooden door. It was more formality than anything. He opened it before Captain Ruessard could answer it. The young soldier sat facing outward, scanning the horizon as he always seemed to do.

“I have your Brulla, Rashad. And with that northerly wind coming in today, I went ahead and added a touch of Candock Whiskey to them.”

Rashad turned around, sporting a wry smirk upon his face, “Well, who am I to debate with my king. It does have a bite of frostiness in the air this foremorn.”

He had touches of premature grey at his temples. He also had his late father’s hazel eyes and a spattering of freckles under his eyes that forever made him younger in appearance than his actual age.

They fell into a comfortable silence in the high guard tower which overlooked the docks. Each young man lost in his thoughts. Over the last two months, this had become an odd routine that they both grew to appreciate. During the Viestrahl Siege, they both lost cherished family members and were thrust into new positions of responsibility. It took them time to adjust, get settled in their roles and a friendship had developed naturally from this upheaval that they shared in common.

“You would not have known this by looking at him nor by the life he lived, but my father’s heart always belonged to the sea. Before the Wyvernguard had demanded more of his time, he and I would spend early hours like these fishing from a broken-down skiff he salvaged.” Rashad said wistfully looking out at the crashing waves. “There is something enchanting about the color of the water, the soothing roll of the waves and the thrill of watching the lightning storms in the distance…”

“Hmmm. You are right, I did not know that about the good captain. To tell you the truth, Bardun Ruessard used to scare the color out of my face!” Taihven laughed. “It took a long time for me to not be nervous around him. The man was as near a legend I had ever been close to.”

Rashad joined him in laughing and said, “You were not alone. It was rare any of my friends would dare to visit me. He was not a hard man, never laid a hand on me or my sisters, but I guess he had a different side to him ‘on duty’.”

Again, silence settled over them. Taihven’s own father and mother were entombed together only the prior month. He had lost everything that truly mattered to him. The new king felt that sacrifice each moment of the day and restless night.

A flash of memory interrupted his reverie. Letandra’s mace lying abandoned in the courtyard sand…

He grimaced and shook away the image. Then, he tried to take in the rays of sunlight with his eyes, drink it up and feel the spread of warmth over his chest — over his ice frozen heart.

“I am sorry, Rashad. He died a hero though and you honor his name well.”

He did not reply and took a deep drink from his mug of Brulla. Taihven continued to scan the waves of the bay himself. He took note and tracked a procession of five ships which had slipped around the Eastrock Lighthouse Island. They bore the flags and colors of the Trade Merchants of Ansony.

“That is welcome news.” He pointed to the fleet approaching the docks. “The plague has been keeping many of the supply caravans away. They still believe there is an outbreak within the outside edges of the villages. The Court Scribes and I were scheduled to work out letters for the Envoys. Requesting that word be communicated that we have stamped out the Viestrahl plague, but we were now dealing with shortages.”

“Yes, now it appears that will not be necessary…” His words faded and he squinted against the dawn sun. “Seems odd that Ansony would send five ships though.”

Another row of ships, these branded as Premia fishing vessels abruptly appeared, coming in from the west.

The first of the Ansony fleet floated alongside the docking posts of the pier. Taihven wondered aloud, “And now we have another six?”

Rashad stood up and unhooked a ram’s horn from its cradle set upon a wall shelf. He held it as the two men studied the docking merchants. The boats aligned two on one side, three on the other pier. No one had exited, yet dozens were gathering on the ship decks.

The Premia boats cruised into the bay. Yet, they were not approaching and were lowering their barnacled anchors. Men rushed in chaotic errands to and fro on their decks as well.

“Captain, this does not strike me as normal.”


Three dock guards strode out to the moored ships as per normal protocol. Taihven and Rashad noticed the dock guards were alert and had their hands on the hilts of their swords.

At the same instant the dock guards called out a greeting, a volley of fireballs launched from the decks of the Premia ships. They arched in smoky trails through the sky These were arcane evocations.

“It is an attack. Sound your alarm!” Taihven growled and he yanked open the tower door, but the young captain grabbed his wrist.

“You cannot go out there yet, lord! Wait for the Royals to escort you.”

Rashad pierced the stillness of the morning calm with a shrill series of warning notes from his horn. Hooded men in black leather armors charged from the Ansony boats waving hatchets and scimitars.

The invaders overwhelmed and dispatched the unfortunate band of dock guards.

Four Royalguards appeared and without word swept both of them into their circle of protection. They scrambled as a unit down the wooden steps.

An eruption of thick sheets of ice formed a few feet above the guard tower. The sheets drove through the shingles, imploded the guard room and pulverized most of the winding tower stairs into splinters.

“Take him to the Vaults!” Rashad demanded of his men and then broke from the circle. He head straight to a rank of Wyvernguard sprinting toward the docks.


As Taihven was man-handled toward the castle, he glanced back over his shoulder in time to see a bulging, black-blue wave of sea water as it cascaded into the bay. It washed up and over the pier. The wave retreated leaving behind a colossal, ivory beast unlike anything he had ever witnessed. It extended its gelatinous, spiked belly in rolls as it thrashed a long split-tail over the boards. Guards and enemies alike were flung head-over-heels into the air and sea.

Rashad led the charge of a shield phalanx, lances and polearms bristling from it. They advanced upon the creature and the mob of invaders.

The beast’s hooked snout opened and several spear-like tongues erupted from it, impaling and dragging several victims back to it.

Screams of agony and echoes of snapping bones filled the air as the Adventdawn Vault door slammed behind him. The Royals hauled Taihven away from the dock carnage.

IT IS TOO SOON! Taihven’s thoughts screamed in his head as panic gripped him. WHAT CAN I DO? WE ARE STILL SO WEAK FROM THE DISEASE AND HORDE MARCH! HOW CAN I STOP THIS ALL ALONE?

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