Damnation of the Realm (Excerpt)

Freedom or the Fire, Volume One

A Fantasy Tale

Joshua T. Calkins-Treworgy

BooksForABuck.com

Damnation of the Realm (excerpt)

Freedom or the Fire, Volume One

A Fantasy Tale

Joshua T. Calkins-Treworgy

Copyright 2008 by Joshua T. Calkins-Treworgy, all rights reserved. No portion of this novel may be duplicated, transmitted, or stored in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and locations are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people is coincidental

Published by BooksForABuck.com

March, 2008

ISBN: 978-1-60215-070-6

Dedication

I'd first like to thank my wife, Audrey, and my daughters, Cassandra and Celina, for supporting me in my endeavors and remaining a constant pleasure in my life. I'd like to thank my mother and father, who have never discouraged my desires to be an author, or my fascinations with all things fantasy.

I'd like to thank Christopher Edison, John Leonard, and Sean Salatka, my constant role-playing friends. Without their enthusiasm for the fantasy world of Tamalaria in which their pen-and-paper adventures took place, there would have come no format for this tale and the future Tamalarian Tales that I shall endeavor to produce.

To Mr. and Mrs. McDonald, my junior and senior year English instructors, I'd like to say thanks for the criticisms, the notes you gave me, and the encouragement you gave me back when the very idea of writing professionally was only a pipe dream for me. It's still a bit of a dream, but here you have it.

And of course, my thanks to Mr. Robert Preece, a true professional and gentleman who helped me flesh out a number of components throughout the story. I am very thankful to you, sir.

Prologue

His armored fist slammed heavily into the guard's stomach, pushing undigested foodstuffs and body acids around in an uncomfortable fashion. "Please, forgive me for this," he rasped as the Human guard fell easily into his bracing arms.

"You know, nobody'd miss him," a small, high-pitched voice chimed in next to the dark traveler's ear. "Chances are he'll be able to find you if he gets within a hundred yards of you. He'll feel your presence. Just take care of that little problem." The shadow-wrapped creature harrumphed softly.

"Tempting, little one. Very tempting," the traveler said. Visions of violence danced through his mind. In the first, he slammed his fist through the guard's chest and ripped his spinal column straight out through the gaping hole. In the second vision, well, it involved his broadsword and an orifice not normally associated with the word 'entry'. The old fury, once so familiar, so easy to use, now tried to infringe upon his actions. "But no. This man has done us no wrong. Hopefully, that will continue to hold true until we figure out what to do next."

The traveler waved his left hand vaguely around in a circle. Smoke and shadows extended from the fog and darkness around the traveler's own body, and encased the guard completely within moments. Though the creature had managed to restrain his darkest impulses, he could not stop himself from tossing the unconscious body carelessly toward the bushes along the city wall. The heavy impact signaled to him that no effort had been made by the guard to soften the landing. He would stay asleep for a while.

"You there," shouted another guard, this one from a way off to the traveler's left.

Damnation, he thought. Should have known there'd be more than one guard at the gates. The cloaked stranger spun on his heel to face the second guard, a brown furred Werewolf in full hybrid form, as had become custom for the lycanthropes. This, the stranger thought, is going to be more difficult than dealing with the Human.

"Hold your position," the Werewolf shouted as he sped up to get in front of the stranger.

"I am in a hurry to get to the inn," rasped the cloaked creature, as dust plumed from his throat. "I do not wish to tarry here any longer than is necessary." Silver, he thought desperately. Why don't I ever carry silver?

"And you won't have to," said the Werewolf. His rough, gnarled left hand moved slowly toward the hilt of a longsword. "So long as you provide your papers and state your business." The guard's words would normally have put a traveler at ease to hear such simple requirements for entrance, especially in the lands of Tamalaria. The traveler moved his right hand into his cloak slowly, but obviously. As before, a comforting sign, this time for the guard. People didn't make such obvious motions if they intended anything harmful, most times. The traveler's body language spoke clearly to the Werewolf guard, and it said 'I'm getting those papers now'.

"This had better be the only other guard," the cloaked creature said to himself as he brought his hand out, releasing a thin bolt of purple energy into the Werewolf's chest. The magic struck with such accuracy and sudden force that the lycanthrope's entire body hit the ground without pause.

"Hmm. Nice fall," said a high-pitched voice near the traveler's ear. "No sissy attempt to soften it by bending the knees."

"Yes, well, I did hit him rather hard," grumbled the traveler as he darted down the main street. "Not sure he was conscious to make the attempt at saving himself." Keeping a flow of magical shadows wrapped around his body, the traveler moved seamlessly from the street, to the innkeeper's front desk, to a rented room. Tossing off the shadows that concealed his form, the traveler looked in the full-length mirror next to his dingy, two-gold-pieces-a-night bed.

"Looking good, boss," the little voice said. The traveler's head bore on its surface no trace of hair, feature, or flesh. Smoke billowed slowly from the half-rotted throat.

"Shut up, Alex." The traveler looked in the mirror at his ravaged, armored body. He lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling until sleep took him, until dreams washed away the image in the mirror. He dreamed of how it came to this, how he became that which he had once hated, hunted, destroyed.

He dreamed the memory of his life as Byron Aixler, and how a warlock destroyed that life.

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