EYE OF THE STORM

New Edition Coming This Year

Eye of the Storm was originally published in 2017 by Ravenswood Press. Unfortunately, like many independent publishing houses, Ravenswood closed its doors a few years ago, leaving this book out of print. I've been fortunate enough recently to have some of my other books from the also-defunct Necro Publications re-issued as revised and re-edited second editions. In that spirit, I've decided to produce a second edition of this one as well. Currently in the re-editing phase, it should be available for purchase later this year. The new cover art is here already--included below. 

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           Vhora Vulka’s terrible shadow loomed first, stark and fierce in the tundra sun. Horns emerged into the daylight, along with bony, leathery wings and finally a giant saurian head. It moved with a slow, deliberate gait, more like slithering than walking. The creature’s gaping jaws drooled as it crept up to the crest of the altar, where it perched itself behind Azreth like an obedient pet. 

The conductor in an orchestra of blood, the shaman directed the acolytes, who carried the still-warm corpse to the foot of the dragon. Still the beast merely sniffed the dead girl, dripping globs of saliva from its maw. Only when Azreth gave the command did she lurch down, chomp the body and begin to devour it. 

The crowd cheered. Bloodletting followed. The remaining two girls were slain and consumed in like manner. Then, the calls began to go out to the assembled chieftains to bring forth their sacrifices. 

One after another, feather and horn-helmed warriors led their offerings to the slaughter. Male and female. Old and young. All perished in the same fashion, hearts torn from their breasts and bodies fed to the ravenous Vhora Vulka. 

So it went, until all parties upon the mountain shrine had presented their offering to the Horned God’s reptilian avatar. Then the call went out to the last of them. 

“Retainers of Queen Threya,” Azreth began, his blood-soaked arms lifted in the air. “Have you readied your presentation to Ulthoreth?” 

She looked over to Kerr, and to Slade standing beside him. 

“We have, holy one!” Kerr replied. 

Slade looked at the leper. He put his hand on the crippled man’s shoulder. The acolytes were already approaching from the crest of the summit. 

Slade raised his hands in a universal gesture of surrender. The acolytes paused. Expecting at least some resistance, the sight of a slave offering himself with no struggle took them off-guard. He kept his hands lifted as he walked toward them, head held high. He walked to the killing-stage of his own volition. 

The sight brought a still to the gathered. 

Following the same path as every other victim on the day, Slade stepped up to the red-slick altar, then turned to face the gathered. He kept his sight locked on Threya. She lifted her hands to the sky, closing her eyes as she readied to accept the final blood-tribute that would seal her ascension. 

Behind her, Draekhos edged back a step. Then two. All the attention was directed upon the altar. Upon the acolytes, upon the shaman and upon Slade the human offering. No one on the entire mountain was watching anything else. 

Except Kerr. And Slade himself. 

He watched Draekhos. As the trumpets blared again, and the shouts of the crowd lifted to a crescendo, the Queen’s bodyguard brought his hand to his sword. Poised behind Threya, he inched back even further.

Slade knew why. Draekhos needed enough room to draw his blade—and to bring it around for a full strike. 

For an instant, Slade glanced to each side of the altar. His guess was confirmed. The death-acolytes were poised as well. Their faces were directed toward Threya, rather than the ceremony. Then he looked back at Kerr. 

The shaman motioned for his servants to lay Slade down upon the bloody altar. Both took hold of his wrists, pulling them down to secure his manacles to the dais chains. He looked again toward Draekhos and the Queen. The bodyguard tightened his grip on the pommel of his sword. 

The acolytes pulled harder, expecting the resistance that had so far been absent. One lost his grip, startled for just a moment. Slade used the opportunity. He swung the chains on his wrists, knocking the acolyte across the jaw. 

Screams went up from the crowd. Vhora Vulka roared behind them. Other acolytes rushed toward the altar to help. Slade took hold of the second priest by the arm. Now with both hands, he pulled the man off balance, throwing him toward the dragon. It clamped its hungry jaws upon him the moment he landed. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Slade could see Draekhos. The bald giant was already in motion, using the distraction to unsheathe his blade behind Threya, who did not yet realize the danger only inches behind her. 

Before anyone could reach him, Slade grabbed hold of the shaman, knocking the ceremonial dagger free. Then he pushed the mystic off the altar and into the acolytes rushing to help their chief. 

He took the gold-hilted blade in his hand as he leaped, shouting to Threya with words he knew she wouldn’t understand, motioning for her to move. As he feared, she mistook his warnings for a battle-cry and began to draw her own blade. 

Kerr stopped her. From behind, he reached out and he said only one word. 

“Friend.” 

Slade hurled the dagger while he was in the air. It tumbled past Threya, spinning until it struck Draekhos in the arm. 

He screamed, dropping his sword. Threya turned, realizing the betrayal. But the danger had not passed. From either side, the death-acolytes charged. They raised their own knives, bounding toward the Queen even as Draekhos recovered. 

Kerr stepped back. Threya cut down the first one, slicing the knife from his hand and then cutting across his bare throat. The second one would have reached her, had Slade not come up from behind him, whirling his chains around the man’s neck to snare him, before drawing him close enough to crush his throat with his bare hands. 

Threya staggered. 

She scanned the dais around her. No one was moving. Khurghe and the other horde masters had stepped back, apart from the fray. The Wolf Guard remained in formation, their blades still in their scabbards. The horned dragon writhed atop the peak. 

Draekhos roared. His scimitar curved in a silver whirl. Threya managed to deflect the blow, but the force of it sent her reeling. 

Slade went in low. He took Draekhos’ legs out from under him, bringing the man down in a heap of dust and blood. The two men returned to their feet at the same time. Draekhos waved his blade. Slade twirled the chains hanging from his wrists. 

The Neanderthal attacked. He lifted his sword and swiped at Slade’s torso, then again at his head. Both missed. A third strike lunged toward the slave. Slade used his chains to trap the bodyguard’s weapon. He pulled the goliath close to him, so Draekhos couldn’t swing the sword. They pushed and pulled, back and forth. Draekhos was stronger. He used his leverage to move Slade back, until he had almost freed himself. 

At the last instant, Slade loosened his grasp. Just as Draekhos threw all of his weight into pushing him, Slade let go. The giant tumbled to his belly. His blade came loose from his hands as he fell, clanking in the dust. Slade picked it up. 

He stood over Draekhos as the bald hulk scrambled to turn himself over. Slade looked to Threya. Her face was swelled with wrath. 

She nodded to him. 

“Do it,” Kerr whispered. “Finish him.” 

Slade brought the scimitar down upon the head of Draekhos and split his skull in two.  

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