Wurm's Blood is currently on hold as I am still waiting on my co-author to write up the final fight scene. I promise those that care that once this has been written up I will put it into the main document and then have the proof ordered so I can start editing the proof copy and once that is done I will put it up for sale on both the nook and on lulu for those that prefer a hard copy to a digital. I have also started trying to write up my other projects, such as Records of The Last War.
Here is a sampling/rough draft of what I have so far for it.
CHAPTER I
8013 C.A. 14th of Charch, Wintertide
Up from the mud, nations struggled to arise, only to passionately burn away, and then from the ashes raise up once more ending lamentably in the same manner of nothingness. Again and again, and on and on endlessly repeating this pattern of birth, destruction, rebirth. Nations were only a creation of the powerful, and yet as elusive as an individual’s ability to obtain true freedom. Such were the thoughts of a young refugee from the fallen Kingdom of Poltan as he shivered beneath the scrap of cloth that served as his only warmth in the carriage bound for The Kirach Republic. His remaining brother, Gediminas, and mother, Ulsa seemed preoccupied with their own thoughts as they stared out at the falling snow.
Lovingly Azuolas’ fingers traced over the gilded text and leather cover of the only book to have survived the fire; a gift upon turning thirteen by his late father. The Imperial Ruskhaan Army had burned everything in retaliation against The Poltan Revolutionists. The Poltan Revolution, which had started so quietly ended in a loud blaze of flames before even a single shot could be heard. The Ruskhaan had ruined everything he cherished so deeply; his home, his country, three of his five brothers, his father, and the handful of books his father had been able to afford to buy for him, save the one in his lap. Unlike his other brothers he sensed he had retained a special bond between his father and himself even as he had grown into manhood. Tears fell from Azuolas’ sadly smiling face as he remembered the first time his father had stubbornly attempted to pound the concepts of mathematics into his brain, and even more importantly to Azuolas the ability to read. He had devoured every book placed into his eager young hands as he had found himself lost in the world of words. His mind had been over eager for more and he had often grown sullen or sulked when he learned that his father could not afford another book so quickly. He tried to push those memories aside as he once more found himself, like his remaining family, gazing out the carriage’s window.
A distraught sigh had brought his attention towards his mother, who had stopped looking out the window and had simply stared now at her lap, not even bothering to wrap the shawl about her shoulders tighter, despite the chill wintertide air. He leaned forward and adjusted it for her, deeply concerned. She had not been the same since the fire, which had destroyed their home and killed his father. He had found himself taking daily care of her basic needs. Fear gnawed at the back of Azuolas’ mind that one day her heart would simply stop; leaving Gedy, his nickname from youth for his little brother, and himself alone in the world. He had lost so much so quickly that he did not feel ready to let go of her just yet.
After adjusting her shawl he took hold of her freezing hand and squeezed it. She looked up at him and smiled softly. Her cold hand pressed against the side of his face as she whispered misty eyed at Azuolas, “So much like your father.” Then her hand and head both fell as he saw in her eyes that she had been desperately fighting back against her tears, momentarily trying to be strong for her two remaining sons.
He felt the carriage slowing and poked his head outside the window. His hazel eyes narrowed as he squinted through the heavy snowfall to glimpse a silhouetted blur of an intimidating, roughly box shaped building. Azuolas supposed it to be the checkpoint between Weigar and Kirach.
The halting of the carriage before the road barricade had sent the occupants of the carriage lurching forward despite it’s deceleration. His hand had reached out to steady his mother from falling onto the floor.
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