Monday, July 4, 2016

A Sacred Journey Special Preview!!!

http://www.facebook.com/dhalmir
Follow the series on Facebook!

A Sacred Journey is coming in just a few short months and today we have a special surprise for you! We're releasing a FULL CHAPTER right here! Just scroll down and see what's coming this December!


CHAPTER LXXIX



YILAN BLEW THE DUST FROM the cover of his newly found treasure and opened it with eager gentleness. It emanated a soft yellow glow, exposing the cracks and scars on his leathery reptilian skin. A thousand battles put them there before he ascended the throne as the last of the Laevis kings and this book was going to cement his place in history as the greatest.
            The ancient runes glowed on the pages of the tome. They were written by Belock Cahliin in the Sitxh Age before the fall of Koe. These were secret scriptures, written in the ancient glyphs of Duth Ghellian and they held all the sacred knowledge of the Sakriark and the power of Fengari. But the languages of the old world and the past ages had gone dark long ago. No one could read the text.
            Yilan closed the book, quenching the amber glow, and hid it in his robes before he exited the darkened room. The corridor was changed – damaged. The shockwave of Toriwook’s descent had caused earthquakes all over Eirvah, but the extent of the destruction was yet unclear.
            Yilan’s head began to ache. He struggled to see clearly as he approached the end of the corridor. As he emerged, he saw that his Barrens had been laid waste and nothing remained except the bubbles of Maldat, which floated curiously in its stead. Thousands lie dead under rubble and fire burned all about.
            Every machine and piece of infernal technology had been destroyed and lay in disrepair. Yilan’s head continued to throb. He looked at his hand. His vision was blurry and he found it difficult to discern shapes and figures. But he could see the scales on his hands begin to fall away from the flesh on his hands. Raw, sticky flesh was exposed beneath and as a large chunk of scaly skin fell away, Yilan fell to the ground and bled from his eyes, seizing and convulsing before he finally ceased and lay silent and still.
            It was about that time that Shinri, a man with soft blond hair and a short, well kept beard, came upon Yilan’s apparently lifeless form. He saw his master lying still in the dirt and figured him dead until he noticed a subtle hint of breath moving his ribs in and out.
            Now Shinri was clothed in a ragged cloak with thin trousers and no shoes. He was cut, bruised and scarred all over his body and his face was a bit bloodied. He looked down upon his master with pity and then he knelt.
            From the pouch on his waist, he pulled a vial of blue glass. It was shaped like a droplet of water and had a silver wire embedded in it and a green liquid glowed inside. He opened it and let a single droplet fall on Yilan’s head before he closed it up, put back in his pouch and picked up his fallen master.
            With Yilan draped over his shoulder, Shinri began to walk to a shadowy shelter he’d fashioned for himself. And there he laid his master and covered him with a rag and he tried to dry up the blood from Yilan’s face.
            Shinri was a young man – twenty-nine years old – when Toriwook fell on Eirvah. He had been a soldier of the Laevis Corps for the better half of his life, having pledged himself at the age of fifteen. But things were different now. The compound and headquarters known as Yilan’s Barrens had been destroyed by the quakes brought on by the fall of Toriwook. And as far as Shinri knew, he and Yilan may be the only survivors of their order.
            He left his master in the shelter and went out searching for goods and supplies to keep them through the next few days. He was a good man, but misguided by the deception of Fengari.
            Now it was first light of morning and the sky was red as Shinri came across a ring of gold with spiral patterns etched in it and around. And in its sockets he saw ten gems of glowing fiery red. And the ring was very beautiful to him, so he picked it up. He’d never seen such a thing in all his days, but there it was on the ground.
            So he picked it up and slid it onto the index finger of his left hand. Immediately he knew its power. Through his veins he could feel it. And almost instinctively, he held out his hand and the shadows in front of him gathered together in one place. And then they dispersed. This was one of the five Eidolons, the Ring of Bjirgen. He had heard tales of this relic as a small child. And now the power of day-bending lie in his hands.
            But the five Eidolons do not yield their power to just anyone, and though they may be wielded by all who possess them, they cannot be mastered. And Shinri was not the master of the Ring of Bjirgen and he would soon know the weight of holding one of the five Eidolons. But first, it would use him.
Shinri gazed at his hand, proud of his new treasure and mesmerized by its charm and the power it promised. And so Shinri returned to Yilan and sat there in the cover of shadows, but he did not reveal the ring to him nor did he even bother to rouse or awaken his master. He only stared at his prize.
And Shinri pondered all the ways that he might rule over the lands of Eirvah now that the calamity had fallen. He reckoned himself a hero with a gift from the gods. Shinri was descended from the ancient people of Koe and maintained their pagan beliefs even to the seventh age. And Shinri smiled.
            Now it was midday and the sky was still red and Yilan awoke from his slumber. And his face looked as though it had been scourged with fire and burned. And in most of the spots where scales had been were now pale blue patches of burned skin as the skin of a man. And Yilan was weak.
            And Yilan’s eyes became clearer that he could see and he looked at Shinri, who was still studying the ring he’d found in the rubble. And Yilan spoke with Shinri.
            “Who are you?” asked he with a voice that sounded quite different from the deep gravel that he usually sported.
            “My name is Shinri, Sire,” said the man as he stood to his feet and slid the Ring of Bjirgen into his pocket.
            “Are you all that remains then?” Yilan pulled himself up and to his feet. His robes were covered in dirt and dust. He brushed it off the best he could.
            “So far as I can tell,” Shinri replied. “I am.”
            “We will go to Murwook,” Yilan said, his voice softer now than before. “Gather what supplies you may need for the journey. It will take us three days by foot.”


Get book one now!
                        





Subscribe to my website!