Category: Fantasy Publisher: CreateSpace
ISBN-10: 1456500597
Type: Fiction
Pages: 386
Copyright: May 16, 2011
ISBN-13: 9781456500597
A loving boy suffers betrayal; a grown man carries a stone cold heart.
The White Oak, Clarendon's oldest brothel, lured and destroyed men by the thousands. Fezariu was different. He had never been drawn by the White Oak's vices but the brothel had still ruined him when he was just a boy.
Salvation came in the form of the Merelax Mercenaries - Elenchera's most prestigious hired hands. They gave Fezariu the chance to escape from his past. Immersed in the world of dangerous assignments in the colonies Fezariu longed to forget everything about his childhood but only in facing the past would he ever be free of it.
Excerpt
The unrelenting snow fell between the far-reaching deciduous branches of the vast forest, disguising an already barely discernible path that ran between the trees and into the heart of a steep valley. Amidst the persistent snowflakes and swirling breeze, a cruel game of cat and mouse was drawing to a close.
Feeling his breathing becoming heavy, Fezariu reached the crest of a slippery slope and immediately halted. He could feel his legs beginning to buckle beneath the weight of Tessera, who was drifting in and out of consciousness in his arms. Fezariu’s right hand, seeped in Tessera’s blood, maintained an uneasy grip on her trembling form, which was now playing out the final chorus of a young life.
‘How did it come to this, Fezariu?’ Tessera said, though her words were the faintest whisper soon lost in the jealous wind.
Fezariu could not muster a response. He continued along the path, his every step leading them further from the pursuing Himordians but deeper into the forest and closer to death. Fezariu grimaced at the sight of Tessera’s blood on the snow – a testament to her fading life and an unwanted trail for the Himordians to follow.
Just ahead, Fezariu could make out his troubled comrades – the Merelax Mercenaries. Each one had wandered willingly beyond the selflessness that had once made them equally feared and sought after throughout the world. Their attire – once of rich black silk with bejewelled sleeves – was ripped from the harsh terrain and punctured by wounds from the Himordians’ blades and arrows. Even the most basic armour that may have lessened the severity of these injuries was considered unbecoming of such accomplished warriors. This trademark had left the mercenaries unhindered since their inception but now their obvious mortality had never been better pronounced. Every mercenary now walked their own path with no concern or shred of guilt for the forsaken friends they had left behind. Steadfast loyalty, perseverance and endeavour were becoming unknown concepts to the last generation of Merelax Mercenaries.
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