After 5 years I am nearing the finishing line. Though it only took me a few months to write the next Jeremiah Talon adventure, it seems it took me forever to start it. Below you will find a sample from the first chapter of Crossroads of the World the long awaited (at least for me) followup to In Memory Alone. Please note this is unedited so please be kind. I will have information on the release of Crossroads soon.
For ordering information on In Memory Alone please follow the link at the right of this website. Thanks for the support.
A Thousand Storms
1.
Marshal Xen’ilk Dron stood at a sharp attention as he watched his troops parade past him in the capital square. The crystal towers of the Mandrake City reached into the cloudless sky like gods of mythology; watching the bolstering creatures below as they marched in unison like gods themselves.
The Marshal drew in deep breaths as his single eye rolled steadily back and forth along its elongated eye slit, catching the gleam from the blue sun of the Citadel Home World as it reflected off the vice-shock troops black and red defense armor.
The sound of metal against metal made a familiar clatter, like swords sliding against one another. The hammering from the hilts of their long staffs of order thundered together like a thousand storms; all rolling across the sky at the same time. The Marshal felt a swelling in his chest as he watched the impressive sight. Although he had witnessed it many times over his long tenure in the Hy’dirian military he never tired of the power mustered in an attack group waiting to invoke pain and suffering on some unsuspecting land on some distant world.
In columns of four, the thousand rows of warriors came to a stop as if rehearsed many times; they turned toward their Marshal, slamming their staffs one last time leaving only the light breeze whipping between the buildings to be heard. In the background several shuttle transports waited to take the massive army to the battle cruiser in orbit over the Citadel Home World.
Xen’ilk walked along the front of the troops, looking them all over; his reflection in the armor shone back at him. He noticed the command braids on his shoulders and the metals on his chest of his black and silver uniform. His rank did not come easy, but it came to him from hard work and tenacity. He had been taught to fight for what he wanted and he had taught that same ideology to his students. Be strong, be brave and be damned if you fail. There was nothing more to life than that except maybe two things: revenge and avenge.
The strike force before Xen’ilk was designed for that purpose, the most blood thirsty of the shock troops created by the genetic engineers the Gens. The four thousand would follow any order kill any creature and sacrifice themselves to bring about the ends of their mission.
The pride festered in him like a father for his sons; for no father could be more proud than he.
While speeches were pointless, Xen’ilk walked to and fro in front of his troops whipping his walking stick against his thick leg that made a crack like a falling tree. “We ride into battle,” he told them. “We will show no mercy, we will show no compassion and we will bring about the death to beings who have had nothing but contempt for the Citadel.” The vice-shock troops made no gestures and showed no signs of caring for what they heard, they were created to kill and were engineered with no regard for frivolities. But the Marshal felt alive from his words, his blood stirred and his emotions ran high. He had been commissioned to lead the armies, destroy the enemy and he enjoyed it immensely.
Over his shoulder Xen’ilk saw the over weight theorist, Oran, who sat on his floating platform at the steps of the main capital building. Xen’ilk stepped back from his men and made a motion with his hand, telling his men to stand at ease. Again the sound of metal sliding against metal could be heard as the vice-shock troops took a step to the left and folded their arms behind their backs.
Xen’ilk’s long cape blew behind him as if it had a life of its own. The Gracoian native goose stepped toward Oran where two red hooded guards stood next to the fat theorist, their swords placed neatly in their sheaths; their authority although demanding did not seem to intimidate the Marshal as he brazened up the long concrete sidewalk; stopping only inches from the floating platform where the over weight man sat.
Oran was a large man; he wore an orange pullover drape, the only thing fitting a man of his size. To his left sat a large pan of brown food that was kept warm with a surface heater. To his right, just within hand reach was a large cup of blue liquid that had been half drunk by the enormous creature. Food lined the outside of his mouth and spots of blue from the drink soaked his clothing.
“Being protected by the crimson knights I see,” Xen’ilk said, giving the two guards a glance.
Oran smacked his lips together. “In these trying times,” he said with a mouth full of food, “One cannot be too careful.”
Xen’ilk smiled. “Since Karpopual was killed you mean.”
Oran stuffed more food into his mouth. “Your strike team is assembled I see,” the overweight man said. “Off to plunder some other unsuspecting planet?”
“Our mission is classified,” Xen’ilk said, “But I suppose you already know that or you wouldn’t have asked.
“Really Marshal,” Oran stopped chewing, “Is it necessary to send yet more men to Cassess O’Learvs? The planet has been beaten.”
Xen’ilk shook his head. “But not broken,” he said. “Their insurgent leaders, who have caused nothing but trouble since our occupation, have finally been captured. I’m being dispatched to deal with them.”
“By execution?” Oran asked. “You’ll find it won’t be that simple. You’ll create nothing but martyrs.”
“Perhaps, but dead leaders are less worrisome than live ones,” Xen’ilk said.
“And what about public opinion?” Oran asked as he nodded his head.
Xen’ilk’s lone eye rolled to the back of his head. Beyond his men, he saw a massing group of people standing in protest. He gritted his teeth and drew in a deep breath as he read the signs they were carrying. PEACE IN OUR TIME and WAR IS NOT AN END TO A MEANS. “Group Captain,” Xen’ilk said through his teeth.
One of the vice-shock troops took a step forward and turned toward the Marshal awaiting orders.
“Have that crowd disbursed,” Xen’ilk ordered in a calm tone.
“Quietly Marshal,” Oran told Xen’ilk. “We need no martyrs here as well.”
Xen’ilk made a sign motion with his hand and the vice-shook officer tapped his staff of order on the ground. Several armored troopers stepped out of rank and moved toward the protestors; who did not move or waver from their place. They fought back the trooper’s advances, but were unable to stop them. The protestors, ranging in all ages, genders and species were carried away. Someone shouted “Freedom is a fantasy!” but their words were only muffled from the shouts of the other protestors.
“There you see,” Xen’ilk said. “It’s that simple.”
“Nothing is as simple as that,” Oran said. “You’ll learn that people are willing to follow anyone who has a better idea of government than we now have.”
“You’re speaking sedition, I could arrest you here and now,” Xen’ilk looked at the crimson guard who did not waver from their spot.
“I’m speaking the truth Marshal. The people in this part of the galaxy are looking for someone to give them hope.”
“What kind of word is that? Hope,” Xen’ilk said.
It’s a word that has been becoming common. It means a desire to change. My theory is soon everyone will be using the word not only as a rally cry but also as a way of life. For with hope comes a promise for a better future.”
“What are these words you are using? Hope and promise. Is this why the Prime employs you, so you can idealize in fantasy?”
“It is my position to bring all alternatives to the Primes ears,” Oran said. “For that is the job of every theorist.”
“Is that what Karpopual’s job was for?” Xen’ilk asked. “When he led Darc Corrian to his death at the hands of specimen 4583?“
“Its name is Jeremiah Talon,” Oran said.
Xen‘ilk‘s lone eye rolled back and forth along the base of his head. “I don’t care what it calls itself.” He said. “I mean to bring it back, or kill it.”
“You better bring it back; the Prime wants to see this human for himself.”
Xen’ilk looked Oran with a curious eye. “How do you know that?” he asked,
“I have just come from the Prime myself. He wants this human brought before him.”
Xen’ilk huffed and walked back and forth, three steps one-way, three steps the other as if was thinking. “I want to kill it,” he said. “I mean to kill it. As soon as I‘m done on Cassess O’Learvs I‘ll do just that.”
Oran dusted food from his chest and took a drink from the large mug that sat next to him. “Darc Corrian meant a lot to you, but you cannot bring him back to life through the death of one being.”
“Revenge and avenge,” Xen’ilk said. “The death of my best student needs to be avenged. I mean to see specimen 4583’s blood on my hands or mine on his.”
Oran looked at Xen’ilk; he put down the food that was in his fat fingered hand. “Then you will be dishonored in the Prime’s eyes.”
Xen’ilk did not hesitate to answer. “Then so be it,” he said.
“I have theorized many outcomes for this mission of yours Marshal. Cassess O’Learvs may bring a surprise or two you must be ready for anything.
“Tell me,” Xen’ilk stepped closer.
“I cannot, I have been instructed only to give my theories to the Prime himself. But I must admit that I cannot see any one conclusion that is positive for you unless you listen to the orders of the Prime.”
“I have never disobeyed an order,” Xen’ilk said. “And after the assignment on Cassess O’Learvs I will take my desires to the Prime concerning my wishes for the death of specimen 4583.”
Oran was silent for a moment then with a long drawn in breath he said, “You won’t have to wait that long.”
“What do you mean?” Xen’ilk asked.
“That is why their here,” Oran pointed to the two crimson guards. “They are here to escort you to the Prime.”
“I am to see the Prime?” Xen’ilk asked with an astonished tone.
Oran drew a wide smile across his fat face. “You’ll be able to voice your wishes before him, is that not an exciting prospect?”
“Indeed,” Xen’ilk whispered. He had never been close enough to the Prime to speak to him. There have not been many who could say that they have had that privilege.
Oran’s hover platform moved back away from the entrance of the capital building. “Then you have no problem seeing the Prime?” he asked.Xen’ilk swallowed hard. “Why would I have such a problem?” he asked. “Of course I’ll see him,” he said as he walked past Oran’s platform and into the building. Behind him he could hear the footsteps of the crimson guard and he wondered if he was being escorted to the Prime or taken. Either way Xen’ilk would have his say. But what would be the outcome?
1.
Marshal Xen’ilk Dron stood at a sharp attention as he watched his troops parade past him in the capital square. The crystal towers of the Mandrake City reached into the cloudless sky like gods of mythology; watching the bolstering creatures below as they marched in unison like gods themselves.
The Marshal drew in deep breaths as his single eye rolled steadily back and forth along its elongated eye slit, catching the gleam from the blue sun of the Citadel Home World as it reflected off the vice-shock troops black and red defense armor.
The sound of metal against metal made a familiar clatter, like swords sliding against one another. The hammering from the hilts of their long staffs of order thundered together like a thousand storms; all rolling across the sky at the same time. The Marshal felt a swelling in his chest as he watched the impressive sight. Although he had witnessed it many times over his long tenure in the Hy’dirian military he never tired of the power mustered in an attack group waiting to invoke pain and suffering on some unsuspecting land on some distant world.
In columns of four, the thousand rows of warriors came to a stop as if rehearsed many times; they turned toward their Marshal, slamming their staffs one last time leaving only the light breeze whipping between the buildings to be heard. In the background several shuttle transports waited to take the massive army to the battle cruiser in orbit over the Citadel Home World.
Xen’ilk walked along the front of the troops, looking them all over; his reflection in the armor shone back at him. He noticed the command braids on his shoulders and the metals on his chest of his black and silver uniform. His rank did not come easy, but it came to him from hard work and tenacity. He had been taught to fight for what he wanted and he had taught that same ideology to his students. Be strong, be brave and be damned if you fail. There was nothing more to life than that except maybe two things: revenge and avenge.
The strike force before Xen’ilk was designed for that purpose, the most blood thirsty of the shock troops created by the genetic engineers the Gens. The four thousand would follow any order kill any creature and sacrifice themselves to bring about the ends of their mission.
The pride festered in him like a father for his sons; for no father could be more proud than he.
While speeches were pointless, Xen’ilk walked to and fro in front of his troops whipping his walking stick against his thick leg that made a crack like a falling tree. “We ride into battle,” he told them. “We will show no mercy, we will show no compassion and we will bring about the death to beings who have had nothing but contempt for the Citadel.” The vice-shock troops made no gestures and showed no signs of caring for what they heard, they were created to kill and were engineered with no regard for frivolities. But the Marshal felt alive from his words, his blood stirred and his emotions ran high. He had been commissioned to lead the armies, destroy the enemy and he enjoyed it immensely.
Over his shoulder Xen’ilk saw the over weight theorist, Oran, who sat on his floating platform at the steps of the main capital building. Xen’ilk stepped back from his men and made a motion with his hand, telling his men to stand at ease. Again the sound of metal sliding against metal could be heard as the vice-shock troops took a step to the left and folded their arms behind their backs.
Xen’ilk’s long cape blew behind him as if it had a life of its own. The Gracoian native goose stepped toward Oran where two red hooded guards stood next to the fat theorist, their swords placed neatly in their sheaths; their authority although demanding did not seem to intimidate the Marshal as he brazened up the long concrete sidewalk; stopping only inches from the floating platform where the over weight man sat.
Oran was a large man; he wore an orange pullover drape, the only thing fitting a man of his size. To his left sat a large pan of brown food that was kept warm with a surface heater. To his right, just within hand reach was a large cup of blue liquid that had been half drunk by the enormous creature. Food lined the outside of his mouth and spots of blue from the drink soaked his clothing.
“Being protected by the crimson knights I see,” Xen’ilk said, giving the two guards a glance.
Oran smacked his lips together. “In these trying times,” he said with a mouth full of food, “One cannot be too careful.”
Xen’ilk smiled. “Since Karpopual was killed you mean.”
Oran stuffed more food into his mouth. “Your strike team is assembled I see,” the overweight man said. “Off to plunder some other unsuspecting planet?”
“Our mission is classified,” Xen’ilk said, “But I suppose you already know that or you wouldn’t have asked.
“Really Marshal,” Oran stopped chewing, “Is it necessary to send yet more men to Cassess O’Learvs? The planet has been beaten.”
Xen’ilk shook his head. “But not broken,” he said. “Their insurgent leaders, who have caused nothing but trouble since our occupation, have finally been captured. I’m being dispatched to deal with them.”
“By execution?” Oran asked. “You’ll find it won’t be that simple. You’ll create nothing but martyrs.”
“Perhaps, but dead leaders are less worrisome than live ones,” Xen’ilk said.
“And what about public opinion?” Oran asked as he nodded his head.
Xen’ilk’s lone eye rolled to the back of his head. Beyond his men, he saw a massing group of people standing in protest. He gritted his teeth and drew in a deep breath as he read the signs they were carrying. PEACE IN OUR TIME and WAR IS NOT AN END TO A MEANS. “Group Captain,” Xen’ilk said through his teeth.
One of the vice-shock troops took a step forward and turned toward the Marshal awaiting orders.
“Have that crowd disbursed,” Xen’ilk ordered in a calm tone.
“Quietly Marshal,” Oran told Xen’ilk. “We need no martyrs here as well.”
Xen’ilk made a sign motion with his hand and the vice-shook officer tapped his staff of order on the ground. Several armored troopers stepped out of rank and moved toward the protestors; who did not move or waver from their place. They fought back the trooper’s advances, but were unable to stop them. The protestors, ranging in all ages, genders and species were carried away. Someone shouted “Freedom is a fantasy!” but their words were only muffled from the shouts of the other protestors.
“There you see,” Xen’ilk said. “It’s that simple.”
“Nothing is as simple as that,” Oran said. “You’ll learn that people are willing to follow anyone who has a better idea of government than we now have.”
“You’re speaking sedition, I could arrest you here and now,” Xen’ilk looked at the crimson guard who did not waver from their spot.
“I’m speaking the truth Marshal. The people in this part of the galaxy are looking for someone to give them hope.”
“What kind of word is that? Hope,” Xen’ilk said.
It’s a word that has been becoming common. It means a desire to change. My theory is soon everyone will be using the word not only as a rally cry but also as a way of life. For with hope comes a promise for a better future.”
“What are these words you are using? Hope and promise. Is this why the Prime employs you, so you can idealize in fantasy?”
“It is my position to bring all alternatives to the Primes ears,” Oran said. “For that is the job of every theorist.”
“Is that what Karpopual’s job was for?” Xen’ilk asked. “When he led Darc Corrian to his death at the hands of specimen 4583?“
“Its name is Jeremiah Talon,” Oran said.
Xen‘ilk‘s lone eye rolled back and forth along the base of his head. “I don’t care what it calls itself.” He said. “I mean to bring it back, or kill it.”
“You better bring it back; the Prime wants to see this human for himself.”
Xen’ilk looked Oran with a curious eye. “How do you know that?” he asked,
“I have just come from the Prime myself. He wants this human brought before him.”
Xen’ilk huffed and walked back and forth, three steps one-way, three steps the other as if was thinking. “I want to kill it,” he said. “I mean to kill it. As soon as I‘m done on Cassess O’Learvs I‘ll do just that.”
Oran dusted food from his chest and took a drink from the large mug that sat next to him. “Darc Corrian meant a lot to you, but you cannot bring him back to life through the death of one being.”
“Revenge and avenge,” Xen’ilk said. “The death of my best student needs to be avenged. I mean to see specimen 4583’s blood on my hands or mine on his.”
Oran looked at Xen’ilk; he put down the food that was in his fat fingered hand. “Then you will be dishonored in the Prime’s eyes.”
Xen’ilk did not hesitate to answer. “Then so be it,” he said.
“I have theorized many outcomes for this mission of yours Marshal. Cassess O’Learvs may bring a surprise or two you must be ready for anything.
“Tell me,” Xen’ilk stepped closer.
“I cannot, I have been instructed only to give my theories to the Prime himself. But I must admit that I cannot see any one conclusion that is positive for you unless you listen to the orders of the Prime.”
“I have never disobeyed an order,” Xen’ilk said. “And after the assignment on Cassess O’Learvs I will take my desires to the Prime concerning my wishes for the death of specimen 4583.”
Oran was silent for a moment then with a long drawn in breath he said, “You won’t have to wait that long.”
“What do you mean?” Xen’ilk asked.
“That is why their here,” Oran pointed to the two crimson guards. “They are here to escort you to the Prime.”
“I am to see the Prime?” Xen’ilk asked with an astonished tone.
Oran drew a wide smile across his fat face. “You’ll be able to voice your wishes before him, is that not an exciting prospect?”
“Indeed,” Xen’ilk whispered. He had never been close enough to the Prime to speak to him. There have not been many who could say that they have had that privilege.
Oran’s hover platform moved back away from the entrance of the capital building. “Then you have no problem seeing the Prime?” he asked.Xen’ilk swallowed hard. “Why would I have such a problem?” he asked. “Of course I’ll see him,” he said as he walked past Oran’s platform and into the building. Behind him he could hear the footsteps of the crimson guard and he wondered if he was being escorted to the Prime or taken. Either way Xen’ilk would have his say. But what would be the outcome?
