THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: The Afterlife and Times of Herbert S. Cooper, M.D. Cain {$2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!}

Sponsored Post

M.D. Cain ’s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of The Afterlife and Times of Herbert S. Cooper:

What happens to our loved ones after they die? What happens to us after we die? What is the Afterlife like? Is the notion even real, or will we just cease to exist? The Afterlife and Times of: Herbert S. Cooper is a firsthand account of what the Afterlife is and will be like, told from the viewpoint of someone who has already died. Prepare yourself for a journey to the other side for a view of the opposite end of eternity, a glimpse of what is just beyond the veil. Read the first book in the new series by M.D. Cain, and come and discover what awaits us all…

Accolades:

This book has a unique twist on the afterlife that is very interesting and well written. The characters are well developed and you will love Herbert and Cadence. The author has an engaging writing style and captures the emotions of the characters. This is a great read and I would highly recommend it This story outlines an afterlife none of us would expect, with characters who are realistic and with whom one can care what happens to them. The author has a unique and engaging writing style and the story flows very well. This book is worth reading and I would recommend it to anyone.

Reviews:

The Afterlife and Times of Herbert S. Cooper  currently has an Amazon reader review rating of 5 stars from 2 reviews. Read the reviews here.


An excerpt from The Afterlife and Times of Herbert S. Cooper:

There are a few things nobody ever tells you about being dead. The first thing being that dying really bloody hurts. Before you even think to object, I’d ask you to just hear me out. I already know that you’re planning on blowing a bit of sunshine up my arse. All you fleshies do. You people go on and on about seeing a great, bright light or you say how dying feels just like going home. It’s all well and good if you want to believe that nonsense, but first may I suggest that you try death by asphyxiation and then give me your thoughts on the matter. Considering the manner in which most people die, I’m stunned by the amount of dunces out there who think it’s a walk in the park.
My mate James happens to think it’s bullocks too. He was shot twenty-two times by a pair of Thompson automatics in a dirty Chicago alley on a cold day in January. When he was lying there, bleeding out on the cracked cement, his life did not flash before his eyes. Instead, he told me that his last thought was that it might’ve been a good idea to keep the gun in his coat pocket as opposed to underneath the seat. The thought preceding his last was a very appropriately placed “Oh, shit.”
So please, take it from someone with firsthand experience: dying will hurt. I have been dead for many years now, and I’ll be damned (excuse the pun) if I’m going to let any other bloody nonsense on the matter go on for one minute longer. When I died, it was a proper death. An Englishman’s death. No begging, no bartering, no bullshit. In the time leading up to my timely demise, it had been a very bad week anyway, so to be honest with you it wasn’t too much of a surprise. The day that I died, it had been a long day indeed. I had been thinking the entire day of all that I didn’t have going for me.
My loveless marriage to a witch of a woman. My boring job. The insurmountable mountain of debt I had accumulated as result of keeping my wife, Mary, in the manner to which she was accustomed. But that became a secondary problem the day that I walked in on her and her lover in my own house, in my bedroom nonetheless, the latter of them brandishing a very menacing revolver. Mind you, I didn’t go down without a fight of course. I knew he was a little mincing ponce that didn’t have the stones to pull the trigger anyway. After a hasty dustup with him though, I wound up on the short end of the fight with his hands wrapped quite snuggly around my neck. Seems he didn’t appreciate it when I’d wrestled the gun from him and broke his nose in the process.
To this day I still don’t understand why my wife, soon to be widowed at the time, was screaming so damn loud. It was quite rude of her to be yelling about the two of us carrying on so violently. Considering I was the one being choked to death while she screamed her head off, I think it was uncalled for and rude. To be honest, I think I deserved a bit of cathartic release myself. I would have liked to yell myself, but as I mentioned earlier, her lover’s hands wrapped around my neck crushing my larynx made that a tad bit difficult.
Either way, at some point during the screaming and the choking and the all around chaos of our little skirmish, I realized one thing. I was going to die. Kick the can. Fare thee well. Buy the farm and the whole forty acres or whatever it is you yanks like to say. I didn’t really mind the prospect of dying to be honest with you; I was becoming rather nagged by Mary’s incessant screaming, and her beau’s hands around my neck were becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
The odd thing is, up until the point that I knew I was going to die, I hadn’t given much thought to my death. Of course, I hadn’t given much thought to my life either, but who’s keeping score? I wasn’t raised in a necessarily religious family. Unless you would consider working a religion. My father taught me how a man ought to work, and how a man ought to act. I was raised a blue collar gentlemen, and I had no proclivity whatsoever towards spending my Sundays in a pew. I’d rather spend them in a pub resting up for the workweek. Suffice it to say, I had no expectation of heaven or hell or anyplace at all really. I fully planned on spending the rest of eternity not existing. I should be as lucky.
My luck (or rather bad luck) happened to land me someplace I hadn’t expected at all. Instead of disappearing into nothingness and spitting in the face of Descartes’ absurd philosophy, I found myself in a somewhat peculiar setting. At the end of the deep, dark abyss that I sank into as my pulmonary system shut down and my brain died from lack of oxygen, I found myself in…a waiting room. That’s right, a bloody waiting room.
I knew right away that it couldn’t be heaven because the interior decoration was horrid. The floor was a terrible drab of yellow linoleum against bright blue walls. At the front of the room there was a counter with an attendant present like I had landed in some sort of bureaucratic nightmare. The worst part was still to come though. I was stuck at the end of the line leading up to the counter. My very first words upon arriving to the Afterlife were an extremely annoyed “Oh, shit.”
I had just been murdered by my wife’s lover, expecting to disappear into nothingness, and of all the places to wind up, I get stuck here. Mind you, it wasn’t so much my discovery of the existence of a human soul that I found perturbing. What invoked this response was the fact that I absolutely loathe lines. I had been queuing up my entire life, and the avoidance of this was one of the perks of my death that I was very much looking forward to.
But somehow I was still alive, in some form or manner, and I was in the very unfortunate position of being stuck right behind a grotesquely large woman in a bathrobe that didn’t quite cover everything. She looked to be in her fifties and was rambling on to me about having a tight chest just a moment before she came to where she was. She just couldn’t understand why she was in a “hospital waiting room.” I choose to ignore her because I was also still in something of a shock at my circumstances.
I was the same as I had been a moment before. Before I was dead. I saw my reflection in the window that looked out onto a treed courtyard, and saw that there was still very little hair on my head, a dark brown peppered with distinguished gray. I still had a bit of a crooked nose and light brown eyes windowed behind my spectacles. The only difference, actually, was that I was in much different attire than what I’d died in. This was good for me, because I’m pretty sure I had spilled some mustard on my shirt before coming home to be murdered, and that wouldn’t have done at all. Can’t very well show up to the Afterlife in a stained shirt. First impressions are everything, even when you’re dead.
Thankfully, somehow I was in my best suit, the two piece twill that bore the signs of a man who had worked very hard every day in his life. It was explained to me later that when you die, you appear as you wish. Whatever is the best possible version of you that could have been, that is who you become when you cross over. I was just glad to be in my Monday best, but for others the experience was a bit more dramatic.
People who’d been blind their entire lives. People who had been deaf. The sick, the disabled, those who had lost their limbs to war or ravage. They were full. Returned to a glory either formerly known and lost or never known at all. They were given the body of what they could have been, what they should have been. As for myself, if I had been blind my entire life, I don’t know if the first sight that I should ever like to see would be this room, but I imagine it was still something to be cherished, to be a joyous occasion for all of those who were relegated in life. It was small miracles like those that took place in this room frequently. The only regrettable thing about the human state in death, though, was that the stupid were still stupid. No manner of miracle could ever fix that.
I was grateful, however, that the people running this bonanza weren’t stupid at all. It seems they had it down to a science. Newcomers would warily approach the counter, and most if not all would be subsequently redirected to a door on the left marked “Grief Counseling.” Most people hadn’t quite come to the realization that they were dead, and in their incredible foresight, this office had therapists on standby to help them deal with that shock. The banner that hung above the counter that read “Welcome to the Afterlife” was a pretty good clue to me that I was dead, along with the whole being murdered just minutes before part, but like I said, there’s no fix for stupid. At least that’s what I took them to be. Either that or they just hadn’t or couldn’t accept it. The line moved quickly as person after person filed through other doors to meet with the grief specialists, which was fine by me because it meant less time queuin g up.
“Name?” the woman at the counter said briskly as I approached. Straight to the point. No diddly-daddling about with the pleasantries. Very professional.
“Herbert Sycamore Cooper,” I replied. My middle name. Another thing I loathed. My father was an avid arbor enthusiast, and thought it appropriate to give me a name that would get me tossed about by the other boys in grammar school. She began jotting my name down on the some very official-looking paperwork and the process took no more than ten minutes. It was just the usual information: name, place of death, occupations as a fleshie, special skills, religious affiliation (atheist), last of kin (if desired). My family and I didn’t exactly have the best relationship, and by that I mean none at all.
In the Afterlife, the obituaries were always on the front page, above the fold. Whereas on your side they were usually bad news, over here they were like bloody wedding announcements. And heaven forbid your dead relatives somehow found out you were on your way out. They’d be waiting in the Welcoming Station (the nickname for this place) for you when you died, with balloons and streamers and all other sorts of nonsense that shouldn’t be shoved onto a newdead as soon as they get here. In case you hadn’t picked up on that, newdead is the slang around here for those who’ve just expired. We call the living “fleshies,” although you can’t say that in mixed company because it’s not politically correct. Rubbish.
After she had written down all my information, she promptly handed me a brochure and told me to have a seat and wait for my case manager to arrive. I took a look down at the brochure as I took my seat. It read as follows:

SO NOW YOU’RE DEAD
Greetings, newdead! Welcome to the Afterlife. There are a few things nobody ever tells you about being dead. The first thing being that dying really bloody hurts. Before you even think to object, I’d ask you to just hear me out. I already know that you’re planning on blowing a bit of sunshine up my arse. All you fleshies do. You people go on and on about seeing a great, bright light or you say how dying feels just like going home. It’s all well and good if you want to believe that nonsense, but first may I suggest that you try death by asphyxiation and then give me your thoughts on the matter. Considering the manner in which most people die, I’m stunned by the amount of dunces out there who think it’s a walk in the park.
My mate James happens to think it’s bullocks too. He was shot twenty-two times by a pair of Thompson automatics in a dirty Chicago alley on a cold day in January. When he was lying there, bleeding out on the cracked cement, his life did not flash before his eyes. Instead, he told me that his last thought was that it might’ve been a good idea to keep the gun in his coat pocket as opposed to underneath the seat. The thought preceding his last was a very appropriately placed “Oh, shit.”
So please, take it from someone with firsthand experience: dying will hurt. I have been dead for many years now, and I’ll be damned (excuse the pun) if I’m going to let any other bloody nonsense on the matter go on for one minute longer. When I died, it was a proper death. An Englishman’s death. No begging, no bartering, no bullshit. In the time leading up to my timely demise, it had been a very bad week anyway, so to be honest with you it wasn’t too much of a surprise. The day that I died, it had been a long day indeed. I had been thinking the entire day of all that I didn’t have going for me.
My loveless marriage to a witch of a woman. My boring job. The insurmountable mountain of debt I had accumulated as result of keeping my wife, Mary, in the manner to which she was accustomed. But that became a secondary problem the day that I walked in on her and her lover in my own house, in my bedroom nonetheless, the latter of them brandishing a very menacing revolver. Mind you, I didn’t go down without a fight of course. I knew he was a little mincing ponce that didn’t have the stones to pull the trigger anyway. After a hasty dustup with him though, I wound up on the short end of the fight with his hands wrapped quite snuggly around my neck. Seems he didn’t appreciate it when I’d wrestled the gun from him and broke his nose in the process.
To this day I still don’t understand why my wife, soon to be widowed at the time, was screaming so damn loud. It was quite rude of her to be yelling about the two of us carrying on so violently. Considering I was the one being choked to death while she screamed her head off, I think it was uncalled for and rude. To be honest, I think I deserved a bit of cathartic release myself. I would have liked to yell myself, but as I mentioned earlier, her lover’s hands wrapped around my neck crushing my larynx made that a tad bit difficult.
Either way, at some point during the screaming and the choking and the all around chaos of our little skirmish, I realized one thing. I was going to die. Kick the can. Fare thee well. Buy the farm and the whole forty acres or whatever it is you yanks like to say. I didn’t really mind the prospect of dying to be honest with you; I was becoming rather nagged by Mary’s incessant screaming, and her beau’s hands around my neck were becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
The odd thing is, up until the point that I knew I was going to die, I hadn’t given much thought to my death. Of course, I hadn’t given much thought to my life either, but who’s keeping score? I wasn’t raised in a necessarily religious family. Unless you would consider working a religion. My father taught me how a man ought to work, and how a man ought to act. I was raised a blue collar gentlemen, and I had no proclivity whatsoever towards spending my Sundays in a pew. I’d rather spend them in a pub resting up for the workweek. Suffice it to say, I had no expectation of heaven or hell or anyplace at all really. I fully planned on spending the rest of eternity not existing. I should be as lucky.
My luck (or rather bad luck) happened to land me someplace I hadn’t expected at all. Instead of disappearing into nothingness and spitting in the face of Descartes’ absurd philosophy, I found myself in a somewhat peculiar setting. At the end of the deep, dark abyss that I sank into as my pulmonary system shut down and my brain died from lack of oxygen, I found myself in…a waiting room. That’s right, a bloody waiting room.
I knew right away that it couldn’t be heaven because the interior decoration was horrid. The floor was a terrible drab of yellow linoleum against bright blue walls. At the front of the room there was a counter with an attendant present like I had landed in some sort of bureaucratic nightmare. The worst part was still to come though. I was stuck at the end of the line leading up to the counter. My very first words upon arriving to the Afterlife were an extremely annoyed “Oh, shit.”
I had just been murdered by my wife’s lover, expecting to disappear into nothingness, and of all the places to wind up, I get stuck here. Mind you, it wasn’t so much my discovery of the existence of a human soul that I found perturbing. What invoked this response was the fact that I absolutely loathe lines. I had been queuing up my entire life, and the avoidance of this was one of the perks of my death that I was very much looking forward to.
But somehow I was still alive, in some form or manner, and I was in the very unfortunate position of being stuck right behind a grotesquely large woman in a bathrobe that didn’t quite cover everything. She looked to be in her fifties and was rambling on to me about having a tight chest just a moment before she came to where she was. She just couldn’t understand why she was in a “hospital waiting room.” I choose to ignore her because I was also still in something of a shock at my circumstances.
I was the same as I had been a moment before. Before I was dead. I saw my reflection in the window that looked out onto a treed courtyard, and saw that there was still very little hair on my head, a dark brown peppered with distinguished gray. I still had a bit of a crooked nose and light brown eyes windowed behind my spectacles. The only difference, actually, was that I was in much different attire than what I’d died in. This was good for me, because I’m pretty sure I had spilled some mustard on my shirt before coming home to be murdered, and that wouldn’t have done at all. Can’t very well show up to the Afterlife in a stained shirt. First impressions are everything, even when you’re dead.
Thankfully, somehow I was in my best suit, the two piece twill that bore the signs of a man who had worked very hard every day in his life. It was explained to me later that when you die, you appear as you wish. Whatever is the best possible version of you that could have been, that is who you become when you cross over. I was just glad to be in my Monday best, but for others the experience was a bit more dramatic.
People who’d been blind their entire lives. People who had been deaf. The sick, the disabled, those who had lost their limbs to war or ravage. They were full. Returned to a glory either formerly known and lost or never known at all. They were given the body of what they could have been, what they should have been. As for myself, if I had been blind my entire life, I don’t know if the first sight that I should ever like to see would be this room, but I imagine it was still something to be cherished, to be a joyous occasion for all of those who were relegated in life. It was small miracles like those that took place in this room frequently. The only regrettable thing about the human state in death, though, was that the stupid were still stupid. No manner of miracle could ever fix that.
I was grateful, however, that the people running this bonanza weren’t stupid at all. It seems they had it down to a science. Newcomers would warily approach the counter, and most if not all would be subsequently redirected to a door on the left marked “Grief Counseling.” Most people hadn’t quite come to the realization that they were dead, and in their incredible foresight, this office had therapists on standby to help them deal with that shock. The banner that hung above the counter that read “Welcome to the Afterlife” was a pretty good clue to me that I was dead, along with the whole being murdered just minutes before part, but like I said, there’s no fix for stupid. At least that’s what I took them to be. Either that or they just hadn’t or couldn’t accept it. The line moved quickly as person after person filed through other doors to meet with the grief specialists, which was fine by me because it meant less time queuin g up.
“Name?” the woman at the counter said briskly as I approached. Straight to the point. No diddly-daddling about with the pleasantries. Very professional.
“Herbert Sycamore Cooper,” I replied. My middle name. Another thing I loathed. My father was an avid arbor enthusiast, and thought it appropriate to give me a name that would get me tossed about by the other boys in grammar school. She began jotting my name down on the some very official-looking paperwork and the process took no more than ten minutes. It was just the usual information: name, place of death, occupations as a fleshie, special skills, religious affiliation (atheist), last of kin (if desired). My family and I didn’t exactly have the best relationship, and by that I mean none at all.
In the Afterlife, the obituaries were always on the front page, above the fold. Whereas on your side they were usually bad news, over here they were like bloody wedding announcements. And heaven forbid your dead relatives somehow found out you were on your way out. They’d be waiting in the Welcoming Station (the nickname for this place) for you when you died, with balloons and streamers and all other sorts of nonsense that shouldn’t be shoved onto a newdead as soon as they get here. In case you hadn’t picked up on that, newdead is the slang around here for those who’ve just expired. We call the living “fleshies,” although you can’t say that in mixed company because it’s not politically correct. Rubbish.
After she had written down all my information, she promptly handed me a brochure and told me to have a seat and wait for my case manager to arrive. I took a look down at the brochure as I took my seat. It read as follows:

————————————————————

SO NOW YOU’RE DEAD
Greetings, newdead! Welcome to the Afterlife. We realize that this is a hard and trying time in your Death, and we would like to extend our deepest condolences. However, this brochure is to inform you of procedures and policies in effect for the duration of the Afterlife.
1. Access to the mortal realm is strictly prohibited. Anyone committing unsanctioned movement across the plane will face severe penalties. Anyone caught aiding and abetting a person committing cross-realm travel will be prosecuted as well. Soliciting services for communications across the plane is also illegal.
2. You are classified as a perpetual life-force. While you retain a seemingly physical body with all five senses available, you cannot become hungry, die again, become sick, or injure yourself in any manner. Please do not purchase any sort of medical or death insurance, as this is a scam and the bureaucracy does not insure against idiocy.
3. Please refer to your case manager for any problems including but not limited to: employment, residential accommodations, grief counseling, educational benefits, and any other question or concerns you may have.
As we await the next step in our existence, please take this time to enjoy Death. You only die once.

Always Dead,
Alberta Fennimore
Bureau of Newdead Integration

 

The Afterlife and Times of Herbert S. Cooper is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99 or Borrow FREE w/Prime!

 

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden), Jedidiah Behe {$0.99}

Sponsored Post

Jedidiah Behe‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden):

Choices, we all make them, every day moment by moment. What most people do not realize is how a simple choice could very well alter their own life and those of everyone around them greatly. What would you do if you were blessed with the curse of being able to see evil and how they manipulate those around you? Would you choose to run in fear, ignore what you have just seen, or fight against something that no one else can see, and therefore limits their belief?

Lucian was chosen to be such a man, much to his dismay. On a path of vengeance he strikes out to find a murderer, unknowing that the world around him is at the brink of war. He pushes on through pain, treachery, despair and even death, only to receive a Revelation that shows him what could very well become the future of his world, and it terrifies him. He is given the ability to see the creatures of shadow, set to destroy the world of the living and manipulate mankind into an evil existence. He is now faced with choices that would change the world forever. The pathways to his destiny are set, but he must choose to follow the correct path, for free will must always be heeded.

 

Accolade:

5-Stars – What an Amazing Story! {Amazon Reader Review}

I picked up this book and hated putting it down. Every time I had to leave it I would be itching to pick it back up again. As long of a book that this was, I tore through it.

This book has everything: Tragedy, romance, action, suspense and so much more. I loved learning about all of the characters, each and every one of them, amazing. Lucian and Kyrianna were wonderfully created. The villains had me cringing and I found myself loving to hate them.

The plot was great, typical fantasy good versus evil, but intricate enough to make it very interesting.

Behe describes such a beautiful world. I was able to visualize every place that he took me in the story. I loved the cities and fortresses.

The action scenes were probably my favorite part of this book. The way Behe walks you through these battles makes you feel like you are watching it play out right in front of you.

There were some editing errors or maybe format conversion errors throughout the book but I found myself enjoying it so much that I started to barely notice them.

I think this is an amazing first book and I will be gnawing at the bit until the second book in this incredible series comes out.

Behe did an outstanding job with Revelations of Doom and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves an epic fantasy tale.

 

Reviews:

Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden) currently has a customer review rating of 4.5 stars from 9 reviews. Read the reviews here.


Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $0.99!

 

An excerpt from Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden):

The assassin slipped from shadow to shadow along a maze of corridors within the vast castle that was built into the side of the Barodine Mountains. Blood trickled off his fingertips, slowed by the tight strip of cloth he had tied around his upper arm just above a wound.

He had found an entrance into the castle. Now he crept along the dark interior walls, nearly invisible. He was truly a master of the shadows. He was in his element. The dark passageways and many intersecting halls were ideal for his trade. Like a dark cloud of death he floated down another hallway, avoiding contact, not wanting to leave any dead bodies that would be found and cause an alert. Sometimes an hour would pass with him moving only several feet. Progress was slow. He was well trained on the basic structures and layouts of castles and palaces. Most were built in a similar manner, and it wasn’t hard to figure out where to find those of importance. This castle however, was amazing in its design of defense. The labyrinth of halls made it difficult to know what direction you were heading. They were all cut the same, with no identifying features that would help in their navigation. But Adrian was not without his wit. He used small dashes of chalk to mark the hallways he had been down. It didn’t take long before he found himself out of the maze of halls and into an area with larger rooms, one of which must have been the dining hall. And then he found what he was looking for.

What could only be the council chamber was a large rectangular shape. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high. Huge stone pillars lined the walls around the room stretching from ceiling to floor. The stone walls had intricate designs carved in them as well as the pillars. It had to be the best sculpting work he had ever seen. A long thick wooden table stretched the length of the room almost twenty yards. The table looked to be carved by the same hands that had done the stone walls. It was simply beautiful. At the back of the room was an elevated platform, seven stone steps led up to a massive marble chair, a throne. The arms were carved to look like legs of a beast, a lion, he discovered, when he looked to the backrest. It was carved into a huge head of a lion. It was quite impressive. One who sat in the seat would have the appearance of sitting in the cradle of the mighty beast. The king’s chambers were generally close to the council room.

There was the slightest noise that came from the hallway outside. Adrian slipped over to the back corner of the room, melding into the shadows. He waited, mentally scolding himself for letting the beauty and craftsmanship of the room capture his attention so. He heard no other sounds coming from the hall but he needed to check and make sure. He moved to the doorway and slid across checking each end of the hall as much as he could see. There was no one, unless they were standing flat against the inside wall where he wouldn’t have been able to see them. The only way to check was to enter the hall. He certainly wasn’t going to simply stick his head out there for a look. No, that was a good way to get one’s head lopped off. He calmed himself and with a vipers speed he leapt out into the hallway landing on his hands and rolling to a crouch against the far wall. The movement was executed perfectly. Not the faintest sound could be heard. After a quick glance confirming there was no one in the hall he slipped back into the room.

 

His stomach lurched. Icy prickles ran all over his skin. He thought he was seeing things at first. A man was sitting on the throne that he had just been admiring and was staring at him with not even the slightest bit of concern. His first instinct was to turn and run but something told him that he would not survive that venture, by the look on the man’s face. He sat in the large chair with a look of complete calm. It was just as he had envisioned it. The man looked to be sitting in the cradle of a mighty lion. And by his casual appearance it was as if he actually thought the lion would protect him. But the assassin did not fall for the appearance. He quickly appraised the man’s skill by his outfit. He wore no armor and carried no weapons except for two ornately jeweled gauntlets that protected him from fingertip to elbow. The backs of his hands were covered with a thick steel slab that stretched from his wrist just past the knuckles. It was secured by a leather strap that wrapped around the hand and jointed at the wrist. At the end of the steel plate above the knuckles rose three short, thick, squared spikes. And three larger squared spikes ran up the middle of each forearm plate. The brightly polished steel was rimmed with fine gold. There were small intricate designs etched into the gauntlets and filled with gold. The assassin marveled at the fine craftsmanship. He had seen lesser ones selling in markets for a small fortune.

The man wore robes that were cut from what must have been an extremely expensive cloth. But the assassin took note in the design of the outfit. It was obvious that this man used his entire body as a weapon. His tunic was sleeveless so as not to impair his arms. His leggings were loose fitting and tucked in, below the knee, to thin leather boots that were wrapped tightly in cloth from ankle to knee. He was as tall as the assassin but his frame looked to be chiseled from stone.

Just the fact that he wore no armor told the assassin that this one was not to be taken lightly. He had heard of men like this before, men that trained their entire lives, making their bodies into lethal weapons. He allowed himself to grin. If this fool thought he was a match for an assassin he was making a grave mistake. Assassins were trained to take a life with deadly proficiency. His body was a lethal weapon as well. He had been trained from a young age in nothing other than the art of killing.

He started walking toward the man in the chair slowly, taking the path around the table to the right so as to set up his left hand for a throw. He had a small throwing knife inside his left handed black leather gauntlet, and with a small unnoticeable twitch of his wrist, he could drop it into his waiting hand and in a blink, launch it at a target with pinpoint accuracy.

“So I suppose that any moment now a dozen men will come running in here and cut me into pieces?” asked Adrian as he moved ever closer.

The man continued to stare, remaining in his casual posture on the seat. He raised his hands out to his sides. The corded muscles in his arms rippled with the gesture.

“No men will come. It is just you and I assassin. But fear not, my name is Solomon and I am the one you have come to kill.”

Adrian slowed a bit. This man can’t be such a fool. He thought that any second, soldiers would come rushing in and cut him down. How else could he be so calm, so confident? “So you are the King?” He kept his eyes on the strange man as he stepped closer. The rest of his senses reaching out in all directions searching for any other threat.

“We have no King,” said Solomon, “but as I said, I am the one you seek.”

Adrian was beginning to tire of this crazy fool. “So what are you? Or should I just call you the dead man.” He stepped closer, a few more steps and he would be within range for his dagger. He would not miss.

“I am a priest.”

 

Adrian was caught off guard by this last bit of information. How could they have no King? He had never heard of such a thing. He decided that this man was only trying to trick him. He was probably sent as a diversion while their true King tried to escape.

“If you think that I won’t kill you because you’re a holy man, you are deadly mistaken.” He was within range, the priest still sat there as if he had an invisible shield protecting him. The assassin wasn’t fooled by his casual pose, he knew the man was poised, ready to attack, this was all meant to throw him off guard. It didn’t matter, even if he reacted quickly enough and managed to move so the dagger wouldn’t hit him in a critical area, that reaction alone would be the only hesitation the assassin needed to move in close enough and finish the man with his blade.

“It is you who are mistaken, assassin.”

As the priest finished those words, Adrian let loose his dagger, the motion was a blur. The dagger ripped through the air aimed at the heart. The priest brought up his gauntlet, as if he had been waiting for the dagger to come, and easily deflected it. It rang off the wall behind the throne.

The assassin was shocked at the seemingly effortless block of his dirk but he didn’t slow his attack, in three quick strides he was at the priest, just after his dagger rang of the gauntlet. His blackened steel blade came out, snapping up and thrusting in at the priest’s chest. The thrust was meant to cause the priest to throw up a block and then he would retract and slap the block away coming in with a second thrust under the arms, slamming his blade into the priest’s heart. But he underestimated this man.

Solomon was surprisingly fast. Before Adrian could pull his hand back the priest brought both his in, slapping the outside of the assassin’s sword hand with one, and the inside of his forearm with the other. Adrian blinked in shock as his blade flew from his grip across the room, but he didn’t hesitate, and thrust in with his other hand like a knife, aiming for the throat.

The priest easily caught his outstretched fingers. It was like he knew what the assassin was going to do before he did it. As he wrenched back Adrian’s fingers with a quick jerk, there was a snapping sound. He screamed out until the priest’s foot came up behind him, slamming into the back of his head. His face smacked into the marble, lion-head backrest with a loud crack.

Solomon was still sitting in the chair as Adrian toppled backward, falling down the steps landing hard in front of the large center table. He clutched his forehead as blood rolled down his face.

The priest stood from his chair and slowly started down the steps as Adrian recovered, trying to keep himself steady as he stood. His arm shook as he held his mangled fingers. He tried to make himself look defeated and hoped it would give him the opportunity that he needed. The priest reached the bottom step and the assassin lunged into the air snapping out a spinning back kick at the priest’s head. It was a desperate move, if landed it would have surely snapped the priests neck, but if it missed he would be left vulnerable. Desperation led to disaster.

The priest easily ducked the kick, coming in close to Adrian as he landed. He was off balance from the attempt at the deft maneuver and there was nothing he could do as the priest came up with a left elbow under his chin, snapping his head back with the blow. Adrian thought he heard his jaw snap. The priest was still in motion, spinning around backwards connecting with a right elbow to his head, whirling him around. As Adrian came back to facing the priest, the man landed a powerful sidekick into his chest, sending him flying through the air, to land on top of the table.

Solomon was shocked to see the assassin immediately roll backwards with the momentum, come up in a crouch and then spring back into a flip, landing at a safe distance away. He gave the assassin a slight bow of his head. “Impressive.”

 

Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $0.99!

 

Connect with Jedidiah Behe:

Twitter: @jjbehe

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden), Jedidiah Behe {$2.99}

Sponsored Post

Jedidiah Behe‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden):

Choices, we all make them, every day moment by moment. What most people do not realize is how a simple choice could very well alter their own life and those of everyone around them greatly. What would you do if you were blessed with the curse of being able to see evil and how they manipulate those around you? Would you choose to run in fear, ignore what you have just seen, or fight against something that no one else can see, and therefore limits their belief?

Lucian was chosen to be such a man, much to his dismay. On a path of vengeance he strikes out to find a murderer, unknowing that the world around him is at the brink of war. He pushes on through pain, treachery, despair and even death, only to receive a Revelation that shows him what could very well become the future of his world, and it terrifies him. He is given the ability to see the creatures of shadow, set to destroy the world of the living and manipulate mankind into an evil existence. He is now faced with choices that would change the world forever. The pathways to his destiny are set, but he must choose to follow the correct path, for free will must always be heeded.

 

Accolade:

5-Stars – What an Amazing Story! {Amazon Reader Review}

I picked up this book and hated putting it down. Every time I had to leave it I would be itching to pick it back up again. As long of a book that this was, I tore through it.

This book has everything: Tragedy, romance, action, suspense and so much more. I loved learning about all of the characters, each and every one of them, amazing. Lucian and Kyrianna were wonderfully created. The villains had me cringing and I found myself loving to hate them.

The plot was great, typical fantasy good versus evil, but intricate enough to make it very interesting.

Behe describes such a beautiful world. I was able to visualize every place that he took me in the story. I loved the cities and fortresses.

The action scenes were probably my favorite part of this book. The way Behe walks you through these battles makes you feel like you are watching it play out right in front of you.

There were some editing errors or maybe format conversion errors throughout the book but I found myself enjoying it so much that I started to barely notice them.

I think this is an amazing first book and I will be gnawing at the bit until the second book in this incredible series comes out.

Behe did an outstanding job with Revelations of Doom and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves an epic fantasy tale.

 

 

Reviews:

Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden) currently has a customer review rating of 4.5 stars from 6 reviews. Read the reviews here.


Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99!

 

An excerpt from Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden):

The assassin slipped from shadow to shadow along a maze of corridors within the vast castle that was built into the side of the Barodine Mountains. Blood trickled off his fingertips, slowed by the tight strip of cloth he had tied around his upper arm just above a wound.

He had found an entrance into the castle. Now he crept along the dark interior walls, nearly invisible. He was truly a master of the shadows. He was in his element. The dark passageways and many intersecting halls were ideal for his trade. Like a dark cloud of death he floated down another hallway, avoiding contact, not wanting to leave any dead bodies that would be found and cause an alert. Sometimes an hour would pass with him moving only several feet. Progress was slow. He was well trained on the basic structures and layouts of castles and palaces. Most were built in a similar manner, and it wasn’t hard to figure out where to find those of importance. This castle however, was amazing in its design of defense. The labyrinth of halls made it difficult to know what direction you were heading. They were all cut the same, with no identifying features that would help in their navigation. But Adrian was not without his wit. He used small dashes of chalk to mark the hallways he had been down. It didn’t take long before he found himself out of the maze of halls and into an area with larger rooms, one of which must have been the dining hall. And then he found what he was looking for.

What could only be the council chamber was a large rectangular shape. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high. Huge stone pillars lined the walls around the room stretching from ceiling to floor. The stone walls had intricate designs carved in them as well as the pillars. It had to be the best sculpting work he had ever seen. A long thick wooden table stretched the length of the room almost twenty yards. The table looked to be carved by the same hands that had done the stone walls. It was simply beautiful. At the back of the room was an elevated platform, seven stone steps led up to a massive marble chair, a throne. The arms were carved to look like legs of a beast, a lion, he discovered, when he looked to the backrest. It was carved into a huge head of a lion. It was quite impressive. One who sat in the seat would have the appearance of sitting in the cradle of the mighty beast. The king’s chambers were generally close to the council room.

There was the slightest noise that came from the hallway outside. Adrian slipped over to the back corner of the room, melding into the shadows. He waited, mentally scolding himself for letting the beauty and craftsmanship of the room capture his attention so. He heard no other sounds coming from the hall but he needed to check and make sure. He moved to the doorway and slid across checking each end of the hall as much as he could see. There was no one, unless they were standing flat against the inside wall where he wouldn’t have been able to see them. The only way to check was to enter the hall. He certainly wasn’t going to simply stick his head out there for a look. No, that was a good way to get one’s head lopped off. He calmed himself and with a vipers speed he leapt out into the hallway landing on his hands and rolling to a crouch against the far wall. The movement was executed perfectly. Not the faintest sound could be heard. After a quick glance confirming there was no one in the hall he slipped back into the room.

 

His stomach lurched. Icy prickles ran all over his skin. He thought he was seeing things at first. A man was sitting on the throne that he had just been admiring and was staring at him with not even the slightest bit of concern. His first instinct was to turn and run but something told him that he would not survive that venture, by the look on the man’s face. He sat in the large chair with a look of complete calm. It was just as he had envisioned it. The man looked to be sitting in the cradle of a mighty lion. And by his casual appearance it was as if he actually thought the lion would protect him. But the assassin did not fall for the appearance. He quickly appraised the man’s skill by his outfit. He wore no armor and carried no weapons except for two ornately jeweled gauntlets that protected him from fingertip to elbow. The backs of his hands were covered with a thick steel slab that stretched from his wrist just past the knuckles. It was secured by a leather strap that wrapped around the hand and jointed at the wrist. At the end of the steel plate above the knuckles rose three short, thick, squared spikes. And three larger squared spikes ran up the middle of each forearm plate. The brightly polished steel was rimmed with fine gold. There were small intricate designs etched into the gauntlets and filled with gold. The assassin marveled at the fine craftsmanship. He had seen lesser ones selling in markets for a small fortune.

The man wore robes that were cut from what must have been an extremely expensive cloth. But the assassin took note in the design of the outfit. It was obvious that this man used his entire body as a weapon. His tunic was sleeveless so as not to impair his arms. His leggings were loose fitting and tucked in, below the knee, to thin leather boots that were wrapped tightly in cloth from ankle to knee. He was as tall as the assassin but his frame looked to be chiseled from stone.

Just the fact that he wore no armor told the assassin that this one was not to be taken lightly. He had heard of men like this before, men that trained their entire lives, making their bodies into lethal weapons. He allowed himself to grin. If this fool thought he was a match for an assassin he was making a grave mistake. Assassins were trained to take a life with deadly proficiency. His body was a lethal weapon as well. He had been trained from a young age in nothing other than the art of killing.

He started walking toward the man in the chair slowly, taking the path around the table to the right so as to set up his left hand for a throw. He had a small throwing knife inside his left handed black leather gauntlet, and with a small unnoticeable twitch of his wrist, he could drop it into his waiting hand and in a blink, launch it at a target with pinpoint accuracy.

“So I suppose that any moment now a dozen men will come running in here and cut me into pieces?” asked Adrian as he moved ever closer.

The man continued to stare, remaining in his casual posture on the seat. He raised his hands out to his sides. The corded muscles in his arms rippled with the gesture.

“No men will come. It is just you and I assassin. But fear not, my name is Solomon and I am the one you have come to kill.”

Adrian slowed a bit. This man can’t be such a fool. He thought that any second, soldiers would come rushing in and cut him down. How else could he be so calm, so confident? “So you are the King?” He kept his eyes on the strange man as he stepped closer. The rest of his senses reaching out in all directions searching for any other threat.

“We have no King,” said Solomon, “but as I said, I am the one you seek.”

Adrian was beginning to tire of this crazy fool. “So what are you? Or should I just call you the dead man.” He stepped closer, a few more steps and he would be within range for his dagger. He would not miss.

“I am a priest.”

 

Adrian was caught off guard by this last bit of information. How could they have no King? He had never heard of such a thing. He decided that this man was only trying to trick him. He was probably sent as a diversion while their true King tried to escape.

“If you think that I won’t kill you because you’re a holy man, you are deadly mistaken.” He was within range, the priest still sat there as if he had an invisible shield protecting him. The assassin wasn’t fooled by his casual pose, he knew the man was poised, ready to attack, this was all meant to throw him off guard. It didn’t matter, even if he reacted quickly enough and managed to move so the dagger wouldn’t hit him in a critical area, that reaction alone would be the only hesitation the assassin needed to move in close enough and finish the man with his blade.

“It is you who are mistaken, assassin.”

As the priest finished those words, Adrian let loose his dagger, the motion was a blur. The dagger ripped through the air aimed at the heart. The priest brought up his gauntlet, as if he had been waiting for the dagger to come, and easily deflected it. It rang off the wall behind the throne.

The assassin was shocked at the seemingly effortless block of his dirk but he didn’t slow his attack, in three quick strides he was at the priest, just after his dagger rang of the gauntlet. His blackened steel blade came out, snapping up and thrusting in at the priest’s chest. The thrust was meant to cause the priest to throw up a block and then he would retract and slap the block away coming in with a second thrust under the arms, slamming his blade into the priest’s heart. But he underestimated this man.

Solomon was surprisingly fast. Before Adrian could pull his hand back the priest brought both his in, slapping the outside of the assassin’s sword hand with one, and the inside of his forearm with the other. Adrian blinked in shock as his blade flew from his grip across the room, but he didn’t hesitate, and thrust in with his other hand like a knife, aiming for the throat.

The priest easily caught his outstretched fingers. It was like he knew what the assassin was going to do before he did it. As he wrenched back Adrian’s fingers with a quick jerk, there was a snapping sound. He screamed out until the priest’s foot came up behind him, slamming into the back of his head. His face smacked into the marble, lion-head backrest with a loud crack.

Solomon was still sitting in the chair as Adrian toppled backward, falling down the steps landing hard in front of the large center table. He clutched his forehead as blood rolled down his face.

The priest stood from his chair and slowly started down the steps as Adrian recovered, trying to keep himself steady as he stood. His arm shook as he held his mangled fingers. He tried to make himself look defeated and hoped it would give him the opportunity that he needed. The priest reached the bottom step and the assassin lunged into the air snapping out a spinning back kick at the priest’s head. It was a desperate move, if landed it would have surely snapped the priests neck, but if it missed he would be left vulnerable. Desperation led to disaster.

The priest easily ducked the kick, coming in close to Adrian as he landed. He was off balance from the attempt at the deft maneuver and there was nothing he could do as the priest came up with a left elbow under his chin, snapping his head back with the blow. Adrian thought he heard his jaw snap. The priest was still in motion, spinning around backwards connecting with a right elbow to his head, whirling him around. As Adrian came back to facing the priest, the man landed a powerful sidekick into his chest, sending him flying through the air, to land on top of the table.

Solomon was shocked to see the assassin immediately roll backwards with the momentum, come up in a crouch and then spring back into a flip, landing at a safe distance away. He gave the assassin a slight bow of his head. “Impressive.”

 

Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99!

 

Connect with Jedidiah Behe:

Twitter: @jjbehe

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden), Jedidiah Behe {$2.99}

Sponsored Post

Jedidiah Behe‘s Frugal Find Under Nine:

Description of Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden):

Choices, we all make them, every day moment by moment. What most people do not realize is how a simple choice could very well alter their own life and those of everyone around them greatly. What would you do if you were blessed with the curse of being able to see evil and how they manipulate those around you? Would you choose to run in fear, ignore what you have just seen, or fight against something that no one else can see, and therefore limits their belief?

Lucian was chosen to be such a man, much to his dismay. On a path of vengeance he strikes out to find a murderer, unknowing that the world around him is at the brink of war. He pushes on through pain, treachery, despair and even death, only to receive a Revelation that shows him what could very well become the future of his world, and it terrifies him. He is given the ability to see the creatures of shadow, set to destroy the world of the living and manipulate mankind into an evil existence. He is now faced with choices that would change the world forever. The pathways to his destiny are set, but he must choose to follow the correct path, for free will must always be heeded.

 

Accolade:

5-Stars – What an Amazing Story! {Amazon Reader Review}

I picked up this book and hated putting it down. Every time I had to leave it I would be itching to pick it back up again. As long of a book that this was, I tore through it.

This book has everything: Tragedy, romance, action, suspense and so much more. I loved learning about all of the characters, each and every one of them, amazing. Lucian and Kyrianna were wonderfully created. The villains had me cringing and I found myself loving to hate them.

The plot was great, typical fantasy good versus evil, but intricate enough to make it very interesting.

Behe describes such a beautiful world. I was able to visualize every place that he took me in the story. I loved the cities and fortresses.

The action scenes were probably my favorite part of this book. The way Behe walks you through these battles makes you feel like you are watching it play out right in front of you.

There were some editing errors or maybe format conversion errors throughout the book but I found myself enjoying it so much that I started to barely notice them.

I think this is an amazing first book and I will be gnawing at the bit until the second book in this incredible series comes out.

Behe did an outstanding job with Revelations of Doom and I highly recommend it to anyone who loves an epic fantasy tale.


Reviews:

Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden)currently has a customer review rating of 5 stars from 4 reviews. Read the reviews here.


Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99!

 

An excerpt from Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden):

The assassin slipped from shadow to shadow along a maze of corridors within the vast castle that was built into the side of the Barodine Mountains. Blood trickled off his fingertips, slowed by the tight strip of cloth he had tied around his upper arm just above a wound.

He had found an entrance into the castle. Now he crept along the dark interior walls, nearly invisible. He was truly a master of the shadows. He was in his element. The dark passageways and many intersecting halls were ideal for his trade. Like a dark cloud of death he floated down another hallway, avoiding contact, not wanting to leave any dead bodies that would be found and cause an alert. Sometimes an hour would pass with him moving only several feet. Progress was slow. He was well trained on the basic structures and layouts of castles and palaces. Most were built in a similar manner, and it wasn’t hard to figure out where to find those of importance. This castle however, was amazing in its design of defense. The labyrinth of halls made it difficult to know what direction you were heading. They were all cut the same, with no identifying features that would help in their navigation. But Adrian was not without his wit. He used small dashes of chalk to mark the hallways he had been down. It didn’t take long before he found himself out of the maze of halls and into an area with larger rooms, one of which must have been the dining hall. And then he found what he was looking for.

What could only be the council chamber was a large rectangular shape. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high. Huge stone pillars lined the walls around the room stretching from ceiling to floor. The stone walls had intricate designs carved in them as well as the pillars. It had to be the best sculpting work he had ever seen. A long thick wooden table stretched the length of the room almost twenty yards. The table looked to be carved by the same hands that had done the stone walls. It was simply beautiful. At the back of the room was an elevated platform, seven stone steps led up to a massive marble chair, a throne. The arms were carved to look like legs of a beast, a lion, he discovered, when he looked to the backrest. It was carved into a huge head of a lion. It was quite impressive. One who sat in the seat would have the appearance of sitting in the cradle of the mighty beast. The king’s chambers were generally close to the council room.

There was the slightest noise that came from the hallway outside. Adrian slipped over to the back corner of the room, melding into the shadows. He waited, mentally scolding himself for letting the beauty and craftsmanship of the room capture his attention so. He heard no other sounds coming from the hall but he needed to check and make sure. He moved to the doorway and slid across checking each end of the hall as much as he could see. There was no one, unless they were standing flat against the inside wall where he wouldn’t have been able to see them. The only way to check was to enter the hall. He certainly wasn’t going to simply stick his head out there for a look. No, that was a good way to get one’s head lopped off. He calmed himself and with a vipers speed he leapt out into the hallway landing on his hands and rolling to a crouch against the far wall. The movement was executed perfectly. Not the faintest sound could be heard. After a quick glance confirming there was no one in the hall he slipped back into the room.

 

His stomach lurched. Icy prickles ran all over his skin. He thought he was seeing things at first. A man was sitting on the throne that he had just been admiring and was staring at him with not even the slightest bit of concern. His first instinct was to turn and run but something told him that he would not survive that venture, by the look on the man’s face. He sat in the large chair with a look of complete calm. It was just as he had envisioned it. The man looked to be sitting in the cradle of a mighty lion. And by his casual appearance it was as if he actually thought the lion would protect him. But the assassin did not fall for the appearance. He quickly appraised the man’s skill by his outfit. He wore no armor and carried no weapons except for two ornately jeweled gauntlets that protected him from fingertip to elbow. The backs of his hands were covered with a thick steel slab that stretched from his wrist just past the knuckles. It was secured by a leather strap that wrapped around the hand and jointed at the wrist. At the end of the steel plate above the knuckles rose three short, thick, squared spikes. And three larger squared spikes ran up the middle of each forearm plate. The brightly polished steel was rimmed with fine gold. There were small intricate designs etched into the gauntlets and filled with gold. The assassin marveled at the fine craftsmanship. He had seen lesser ones selling in markets for a small fortune.

The man wore robes that were cut from what must have been an extremely expensive cloth. But the assassin took note in the design of the outfit. It was obvious that this man used his entire body as a weapon. His tunic was sleeveless so as not to impair his arms. His leggings were loose fitting and tucked in, below the knee, to thin leather boots that were wrapped tightly in cloth from ankle to knee. He was as tall as the assassin but his frame looked to be chiseled from stone.

Just the fact that he wore no armor told the assassin that this one was not to be taken lightly. He had heard of men like this before, men that trained their entire lives, making their bodies into lethal weapons. He allowed himself to grin. If this fool thought he was a match for an assassin he was making a grave mistake. Assassins were trained to take a life with deadly proficiency. His body was a lethal weapon as well. He had been trained from a young age in nothing other than the art of killing.

He started walking toward the man in the chair slowly, taking the path around the table to the right so as to set up his left hand for a throw. He had a small throwing knife inside his left handed black leather gauntlet, and with a small unnoticeable twitch of his wrist, he could drop it into his waiting hand and in a blink, launch it at a target with pinpoint accuracy.

“So I suppose that any moment now a dozen men will come running in here and cut me into pieces?” asked Adrian as he moved ever closer.

The man continued to stare, remaining in his casual posture on the seat. He raised his hands out to his sides. The corded muscles in his arms rippled with the gesture.

“No men will come. It is just you and I assassin. But fear not, my name is Solomon and I am the one you have come to kill.”

Adrian slowed a bit. This man can’t be such a fool. He thought that any second, soldiers would come rushing in and cut him down. How else could he be so calm, so confident? “So you are the King?” He kept his eyes on the strange man as he stepped closer. The rest of his senses reaching out in all directions searching for any other threat.

“We have no King,” said Solomon, “but as I said, I am the one you seek.”

Adrian was beginning to tire of this crazy fool. “So what are you? Or should I just call you the dead man.” He stepped closer, a few more steps and he would be within range for his dagger. He would not miss.

“I am a priest.”

 

Adrian was caught off guard by this last bit of information. How could they have no King? He had never heard of such a thing. He decided that this man was only trying to trick him. He was probably sent as a diversion while their true King tried to escape.

“If you think that I won’t kill you because you’re a holy man, you are deadly mistaken.” He was within range, the priest still sat there as if he had an invisible shield protecting him. The assassin wasn’t fooled by his casual pose, he knew the man was poised, ready to attack, this was all meant to throw him off guard. It didn’t matter, even if he reacted quickly enough and managed to move so the dagger wouldn’t hit him in a critical area, that reaction alone would be the only hesitation the assassin needed to move in close enough and finish the man with his blade.

“It is you who are mistaken, assassin.”

As the priest finished those words, Adrian let loose his dagger, the motion was a blur. The dagger ripped through the air aimed at the heart. The priest brought up his gauntlet, as if he had been waiting for the dagger to come, and easily deflected it. It rang off the wall behind the throne.

The assassin was shocked at the seemingly effortless block of his dirk but he didn’t slow his attack, in three quick strides he was at the priest, just after his dagger rang of the gauntlet. His blackened steel blade came out, snapping up and thrusting in at the priest’s chest. The thrust was meant to cause the priest to throw up a block and then he would retract and slap the block away coming in with a second thrust under the arms, slamming his blade into the priest’s heart. But he underestimated this man.

Solomon was surprisingly fast. Before Adrian could pull his hand back the priest brought both his in, slapping the outside of the assassin’s sword hand with one, and the inside of his forearm with the other. Adrian blinked in shock as his blade flew from his grip across the room, but he didn’t hesitate, and thrust in with his other hand like a knife, aiming for the throat.

The priest easily caught his outstretched fingers. It was like he knew what the assassin was going to do before he did it. As he wrenched back Adrian’s fingers with a quick jerk, there was a snapping sound. He screamed out until the priest’s foot came up behind him, slamming into the back of his head. His face smacked into the marble, lion-head backrest with a loud crack.

Solomon was still sitting in the chair as Adrian toppled backward, falling down the steps landing hard in front of the large center table. He clutched his forehead as blood rolled down his face.

The priest stood from his chair and slowly started down the steps as Adrian recovered, trying to keep himself steady as he stood. His arm shook as he held his mangled fingers. He tried to make himself look defeated and hoped it would give him the opportunity that he needed. The priest reached the bottom step and the assassin lunged into the air snapping out a spinning back kick at the priest’s head. It was a desperate move, if landed it would have surely snapped the priests neck, but if it missed he would be left vulnerable. Desperation led to disaster.

The priest easily ducked the kick, coming in close to Adrian as he landed. He was off balance from the attempt at the deft maneuver and there was nothing he could do as the priest came up with a left elbow under his chin, snapping his head back with the blow. Adrian thought he heard his jaw snap. The priest was still in motion, spinning around backwards connecting with a right elbow to his head, whirling him around. As Adrian came back to facing the priest, the man landed a powerful sidekick into his chest, sending him flying through the air, to land on top of the table.

Solomon was shocked to see the assassin immediately roll backwards with the momentum, come up in a crouch and then spring back into a flip, landing at a safe distance away. He gave the assassin a slight bow of his head. “Impressive.”

 

Revelations of Doom (The Light Warden) is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $2.99!

 

Connect with Jedidiah Behe:

Twitter: @jjbehe

Wings of Hope, Hillary E. Peak {$2.99 or Borrow FREE with Prime!}

The bond of a father and daughter is special. When Jules’ father asks her to come stay with him because he’s terminally ill, she goes for the remarkable opportunity to really know her father. She never dreamed he had liberated a concentration camp, dealt cards to Bugsy Siegel, or saved the life of a Black Panther. Wings of Hope takes you on a road trip through the memories of a man making peace with his life through his conversations with his daughter. Teaching her that death is sometimes the most heartbreakingly beautiful part of life.

Hope is the last gift of a father to his daughter–the power to reach for her dreams.

What readers are saying:

“Anyone who has lost a parent, sudden or otherwise, can relate to wanting to know all about their parent’s life. In this book, Jules has the chance to spend the last few months of her father’s life really getting to know who he was. What a blessing that time is! This book is wonderfully written and the characters are captivating.”

“This book is incredibly beautiful. The author deals honestly and thoughtfully about the sadness and emotion that comes from saying goodbye to a terminally ill loved one, and shows how the experience can also bring life into focus and can inspire people to live more meaningfully. The book is beautifully and tenderly written and once I started it, I found it difficult to stop reading.”

The average Amazon reader review is currently 5 stars {10 reviews}.

Wings of Hope, Hillary E. Peak {FREE!}

The bond of a father and daughter is special. When Jules’ father asks her to come stay with him because he’s terminally ill, she goes for the remarkable opportunity to really know her father. She never dreamed he had liberated a concentration camp, dealt cards to Bugsy Siegel, or saved the life of a Black Panther. Wings of Hope takes you on a road trip through the memories of a man making peace with his life through his conversations with his daughter. Teaching her that death is sometimes the most heartbreakingly beautiful part of life.

Hope is the last gift of a father to his daughter–the power to reach for her dreams.

What readers are saying:

“I loved this book. My dad died just a few years ago–what I would give to have had that time like Jules to get to know him REALLY. Boy, it’s a little sad, but it’s a lot sweeter and it gave me hope that I should really try to do what I feel I really want to do. I have a talent and I need to go for it.” By Brittany

“This was a delightful read. You journey with a young woman as she spends time with her father during his last days.” By Mimi

The average Amazon reader review is currently 5 stars {6 reviews}.

THE FRUGAL FIND OF THE DAY: The Dead Detective Agency, Peg Herring {$3.99 + Check to see if you were a winner of the giveaway!}

Sponsored Post

Peg Herrings Frugal Find Under Nine:

The giveaway winners for The Dead Detective Agency are below –  If you didn’t win, I encourage you to read all about the title below, and grab it at the Kindle Store for $3.99!

Congrats to the Tuesday Giveaway Winners!

Diane

Yvette Bovey

Ryl

Kim

Lisa Garrett

Description of The Dead Detective Agency:

Paranormal mystery-Young secretary Tori Van Camp wakes one morning on a luxurious ocean liner where she is offered whatever a person might desire: food, clothes, recreation, and the companionship of congenial people. But Tori has no memory of booking a cruise. What she does have is a vivid recollection of being shot point blank in the chest.

With the help of the stunningly handsome Mike and the unnervingly serene Nancy, Tori soon learns the purpose of her voyage. Still, she is haunted by the image of the gun, the crack of the shot, and the malevolent face of the shooter. Who wanted her dead, and why?

Determined to find out, Tori enlists the help of Seamus, an eccentric but shrewd detective. Together they embark on an investigation unlike anything she ever thought possible. Death is all around, the future is uncertain, and if Tori does not act quickly, two people she cares about are prime candidates for murder.

THE DEAD DETECTIVE AGENCY is a finalist for EPIC’s best mystery of the year.

 

Accolade:

It’s a brave or foolhardy writer who kills the main character in the very first page of their book, believing the reader will continue with the rest of the story rather than simply give up. Few writers manage it. Alice Sebold mastered it in The Lovely Bones. Thankfully, Peg Herring shows the same proficiency in this, her first in a series of books featuring the bizarre but totally original Dead Detective Agency and its many wacky members.

Young secretary Tori Van Camp wakes one morning on a luxurious ocean liner where she is offered whatever a person might desire: food, clothes, recreation, and the companionship of congenial people. But Tori has little or no memory of booking a cruise. What she does have is a vivid recollection of being shot point blank in the chest by an unknown assailant.

With the help of the stunningly handsome Mike and the unnervingly serene Nancy, Tori soon learns the purpose of her voyage on board the luxury liner. Still, she is haunted by the image of the gun, the crack of the shot, and the malevolent face of the shooter. Who wanted her dead, and why?

Determined to find out, Tori enlists the help of Seamus, an eccentric but shrewd detective (that’s right, Seamus the Shamus). Together they embark on an investigation unlike anything Tori ever thought possible. Death is all around— literally—and the future is uncertain, and if Tori does not act quickly, two people she cares about are prime candidates for murder.

Unfortunately for Tori, she just can’t get up and leave her new abode to go gallivanting after murderers. That’s Seamus’s job. Besides, only the big man behind the desk, Gabriel, can give the okay. Will he give the okay? Will Tori regret ever asking his permission, to go back to that bloody scene? Will Seamus manage to bring closure to this lost and troubled soul?

The Dead Detective Agency combines belief in the afterlife with the paradoxical uncertainty of survival in the present, and is full of wickedly dark humor combined with regular laugh-out-loud moments.  Ms. Herring’s story-telling ability to keep all the plates spinning effortlessly is genuinely impressive. Masterfully, she takes your conscious mind out of your own world and guides you into the atmospheric surrealism of The Dead Detective Agency, smoothly and expertly, with page-turning ease. The story and writing proceed at a furious, breathtaking pace, and when we finally come to the end of our voyage, it’s with deep regret, as if saying bon voyage to a dear friend we have known and loved for years.

Thankfully, Seamus will be back. The follow-up, Dead for the Money, will be harboring to a bookstore very soon. The Dead Detective Agency looks set to be with us for a very long time indeed. Roll on the sequel.

Reviewer Sam Millar is a crime novelist and also the former owner of a chain of comic book stores, K.A.C. Comics, in New York City. His most recent novel is The Dark Place.


Amazon Reader Reviews:

The Dead Detective Agency currently has a Amazon reader review rating of 4.5 stars. Read the reviews here!


An excerpt from The Dead Detective Agency:

Chapter One: Swing Low, Sweet Chariot

Dreaming your death means that you really die? The thought came to Tori slowly as she stirred from oblivious sleep, first stretching her feet downward between the smooth sheets, then twisting her hips to a more comfortable position, and finally opening her eyes enough to see that it was day. “Wake up, Van Camp,” she mumbled, but the odd impression that she was dead did not dissipate as nightmares do when faced with sunlight. As full memory returned, Tori’s eyes opened fully. She clutched her chest, dreading the warm, sticky blood certain to be there. A pistol had pointed directly at her, appearing much larger than the hand that held it. A soda bottle duct-taped to the muzzle gave the gun a homemade yet horrifying look. There had been a twitch of the hand followed by an odd thumping noise, and she had flown backward, disbelieving. After that was nothing.

The hand at her chest found nothing unusual. There was no blood, and she was perfectly whole. Still, the image of death did not recede. The memory became more vivid, not less, the feeling that it had really happened more intense. Tori could hear the doorbell, her footsteps as she went to answer it, the few words spoken, and the muted shot that followed.

It was not that she felt dead, and a glance at a mirror to her right revealed that she did not look dead, either. Like others of strong Dutch ancestry, she had white-blonde hair framing a softly rounded face and eyes once termed “Delft-blue” by an overly poetic young man who hoped to be asked into her apartment. Along with the eyes, which needed no corrective lenses, came full lips and cheeks that always looked faintly rosy within a clear, slightly pale complexion.

That was the good part. Less attractive to Tori’s way of thinking was her body, slightly too big to be fashionable. Taller than normal, her frame was so non-anorexic that present styles seldom suited her. Skimpy tops and low-rise pants betrayed a slight softness around the middle and a heaviness in the bust-line despite modest eating habits and an active lifestyle. Hardly just, but when was life fair?

Tori returned to the odd memory. Had she dreamed her death? The impression was so clear. A man in some sort of delivery service jacket had rung her doorbell and asked in a sniffling, agitated manner if she was Tori Van Camp. Receiving an affirmative reply, he had pulled the gun with its makeshift silencer from a canvas bag he carried and, with a nervous twitch in his cheek that corresponded to the twitch of his index finger, shot her.

She remembered nothing else, no walking toward a light, no welcome from Grandma Mueller. Grandma was undoubtedly too busy toting an oversized cup of nickels around some afterlife casino to take time to greet new arrivals. But why the memory of dying? What sort of dream was that for someone not even thirty?

Three crisp knocks on the door startled her out of her strange reverie, and Tori took note of her surroundings for the first time. That was unnerving, for the room she inhabited was totally unfamiliar. Slightly institutional, the place was on the upscale side of hotel chic: a large room with attractive drapes that matched the coverlet as well as a border that circled the walls at ceiling height, a Monet-like iris pattern in blues and greens. A small walk-in closet stood open and empty except for wooden hangers of the type that disconnect from their handles. Beyond that, a good-sized bathroom showed through an open door, bright-white tiled walls with fresco-like designs in Mediterranean blue scattered throughout.

On the dresser at bedside sat a telephone and a small tray with a coffee maker and accompanying paraphernalia, Columbian coffee, both decaf and regular, and Earl Grey tea in two varieties. A large credenza opposite held a television, its remote resting on top. The whole added up to something like Holiday Inn. The problem was that Tori did not recall going on a vacation or even planning one. How had she gotten time off work, and who was watching the cats?

The distinctive three-knock pattern came again, and Tori tossed aside the thick, soft comforter and set her feet onto a carpet almost equally soft. A downward glance revealed familiar clothes: sweat pants and a T-shirt that read “Books, Cats: Life Is Good.”

On the other side of the door was a petite blond woman with darkly tanned skin and more makeup than a CNN anchor. Attractive in that expensively cared-for way that women on television have, she wore a blazer that was bluer than blue, a pleated white skirt that reached precisely to her knees, and natural leather pumps with three-inch heels. It was a uniform of sorts, the kind that is not supposed to look like one but invariably does. Expensive perfume radiated from her in a way that indicated, at least to Tori’s mind, overcompensation.

The woman’s champagne-colored hair had suffered a few too many dye-jobs, but it was attractively styled, pulled back into a curly little bun with a scrunchie that matched the blazer to perfection. She obviously had a thing for gold. There were three gold rings on each hand, gold hoops in each earlobe, a few bands that ran up the ear edges, and a gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant, also gold.

The woman must have been smiling even before the door opened, but the smile got bigger as she spoke. “Ms. Van Camp? I’m Cinda, your hostess, okay? How was your rest?” The words came in the “professional caring” tone that nurses and waitresses seem required under oath to adopt.

“Um, fine,” Tori replied uncertainly.

“Super!” Cinda exclaimed, more excited by the reply than was necessary.

“Rest is the best thing, I say.”

Confused by the banal opening remarks, Tori tried to ignore both the perfume’s heady effect and the over-the-top cheeriness. “I have some questions.”

“Of course you do,” Cinda answered, tilting her head coquettishly. She was definitely of the perky persuasion, and while the ability to be upbeat at all times might be admirable, Tori suspected it often came from a superficial understanding of circumstances. Still, Cinda was here, apparently charged with being helpful.

“Okay, let’s see. Your questions will be answered at …” she held a clipboard and, pulling a pencil from a little Velcro pad that secured it with an abrupt rip, used its point to make her way down a sheet of names.

“… ten this morning, Office 112 D, if that’s convenient for you.” The reference to Tori’s convenience must have been pure diplomacy, since she didn’t wait for a reply.

“Until then you’re free to explore, okay?

Breakfast is here on Deck E, and the fitness center on D is open all the time. You might get a massage, take a sauna, or visit the gym.”

“But, I don’t understand what’s happened.”

“Of course you don’t.” Cinda put a hand on Tori’s arm in a gesture that could only be called rehearsed. Her shallow sympathy might have comforted a four-year-old whose pet turtle died. “That’s why you’re meeting Nancy at ten. She handles everything. Until then enjoy the facilities, okay?”

Irrationally Tori thought of the least important thing at that moment. “I have no other clothes.”

This was something Cinda was equipped to handle, and genuine enthusiasm shone through. “Okay. Down this corridor, third door on the right. They’ll fix you up.” With a business-like flourish, she replaced the pencil on the sticky pad. “Have a pleasant trip.”

“Trip?” Tori repeated.

Cinda’s smile got even wider, although Tori noticed that it didn’t warm her rather flat eyes. “Nancy will explain.” She shook a finger in mock sternness, tilted her perfectly coiffed head to one side, and cranked the wattage on her smile up to full. “You relax until then, okay?”

That last “okay” did it. A confused sort of anger overcame Tori’s usual politeness, and she felt her face warm with the effort it took to become assertive. Where in the world was she, who was this Cinda, who was the yet unseen Nancy, and how could anyone tell her to relax when she had no idea where she was or what was going on? “But—”

She glanced back at the room, empty of anything personal, any clue to why she was there. Turning again to the doorway, she raised her finger to wave it under Cinda’s pert little (probably bobbed) nose, taking breath to insist on answers, but Cinda was no longer there. It seemed her smile hung behind her for a few seconds, like the Cheshire Cat, but otherwise Tori stood looking at an empty corridor.

 

The Dead Detective Agency is available for purchase at:

Amazon Kindle for $3.99

 

Connect with Peg Herring:

Website: http://pegherring.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/authorpherring
Facebook:http://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/Pegs-News/108697482481217
Blog:http://itsamysterytomepegherring.blogspot.com/

The First Day After Life, Cristian YoungMiller {$2.99}

The First Day After Life is about a psychic who dies and then tours the afterlife looking for God so that God can explain to him why his life didn’t turn out the way that he expected. The story flips back and forth between his human life and the one after to show how the afterlife came into existence and to explain why bad things happen to good people.

The Story Synopsis:
Tian, a young psychic with overwhelming personal demons and a strong sense of purpose dies suddenly and arrives in the afterlife to an unexpected world outside of heaven. Irabell, his guide, shows Tian that the afterworld is a repository for more than just humans, and explains to him the mystery behind his psychic abilities.

Disturbed by what he learns, Tian escapes his guide and breaks into heaven. There Tian meets a 1500 year old, discontented heavenly resident who shares with him the secret of heaven and god.

Tian’s otherworldly journey is cut short when he is forced to make the most important decision of his life. He can choose to stay in the afterlife and reap the rewards he has sown during a difficult life, or he can return to his broken body and complete the journey he was truly meant to take.

What readers are saying:

“It is YoungMiller’s writing that is intoxicating… [his] style of writing finds almost no comparisons as far as novel writing is concerned… it is consistently entertaining, gripping, compelling and educational.” –Grady Harp, Top 10 Amazon Reviewer

The average Amazon Reader Review is currently 4 stars {2 reviews}.

Click here to read more about and purchase The First Day After Life for $2.99 from Amazon

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...