Usuerper's Might: Book Six of New Blood

The future of Mankind relies on the Guardian of Maarihk. As the Usurper's darkness rises, will Natharr and the scattered Rilari stay the path when hope becomes dire?

Award-Winning Epic Medieval Fantasy

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Sample

“I mean you no harm.”

Still, no answer came.

After another moment, he shrugged inwardly. “Here,” he said, feeling like he was trying to coax a reluctant cat out of the rafters. It was certainly closer to describing her behavior than anyone he had ever known. “I will put it at the base of the tree.” He watched her eye shine follow him, then draped the dress over a low branch. “It is a bit wet. It could be worse.” He backed away again, but only halfway to where he had been. “Please. I mean no harm.”

“Then why did you pursue me?”

He stared up at those eyes but, behind her, the sky was getting lighter. Looking closely, he could see the faint outline of the tree trunk and branches ... the shape of her head and shoulders, as well as one of her arms, which was extended to grasp a thick branch. Finally, he found something that he could work to his advantage. If he could keep her talking, he might be able to wait until dawn broke and be able to learn more. “I saw only that someone was trying to hide from me. That could be very ... dangerous.”

“Do you always pursue unknown dangers?”

“No,” he answered, once again surprised by her response. “They tend to pursue me, not the other way around.” He managed a genuine smile and spread his hands again, hoping she could pick out more of his features in the growing light. “Please come down.”

The spots of green eye shine vanished — then did not reappear.

He looked more intently into the treetop — then caught movement in the air, coming at him —

A great weight struck him squarely in the chest. Natharr grunted and fell to his back, recognizing the feel of a pair of feet on his chest, before the small, lithe figure rolled over his head and she continued the motion up to her feet before being lost again in the deeper darkness. He scrambled back up, dull pain radiating out from two points of impact near the top of his sternum. “Demons of Chaos, woman!” he snapped, right hand blurring up to grip his songsword. “I am not here to hurt you!”

Something struck him in the groin, the angle of the impact indicating that it was most likely her foot. He reacted reflexively, catching her ankle even as he dropped to one knee, flaming agony arcing out from his genitals into his belly and down to his knees — but his hand did close around her leg and maintain its hold. He barely had time to pull on the limb before her weight suddenly lurched down-ward, then something struck the side of his head with enough force that flashes of light appeared before his eyes and he fell to the side. He caught himself on one hand, while the other remained steadfastly clamped on that ankle. Whatever had struck his head felt very similar to what had struck his groin: a kick to the groin, then another to the head. If he was not mistaken, the second blow was delivered using his handhold in place of sure footing. That required substantial skill. Most shocking, however, was that the two blows were easily among the most powerful hits he had ever felt — and he had been kicked by a horse on more than one occasion.