Alan Scott's Blog - Posts Tagged "werewolves"
A taster of 'Echoes of a Storm'
Hello,
I thought I would post the prelude to 'Echoes of a Storm'to give you a taste of my writing style. If you like the Prelude, then you can read (for free) the first two chapters on Amazon simply by clicking on the book.
I hope you enjoy
Prelude
Rain
Her softly falling tears echoed the rain as she watched him walk away. He did not cry, but then, his life had made him forget how. So, in the gentle rain, just past midnight, she found herself crying for a man - a fool - who could not.
A fool with that deeply irritating mocking smile. “But then,” she thought sadly, “who was he mocking? Himself? The world? Both?” Even after all these years, she could never quite work out which. She continued to watch him, his slight limp giving him a very distinctive walk, as he finished crossing the courtyard and exit through the open gate. He was, in many ways, a nondescript man. He was average height, average weight, looked to be aged anywhere between thirty and forty with short brown hair. His clothes were as plain as he was.
An involuntary shudder ran through her body. He may seem plain and nondescript, but she knew what lurked within him, what hid beneath that façade he presented to the world.
As she thought about him, the events of this terrible evening arose in her mind. One moment, she was entertaining her guests; the next, men with swords had come crashing in. There had been screaming and shouting, fire and smoke, running and, of course, death. Somehow, her daughter - carried in her maid’s arms - a wounded guard, and herself had made it to the walled courtyard with the assassins close behind. She remembered her hope of escape turning to ash upon seeing the courtyard gates locked and barred. Hence, filled with grown despair, she had turned to face her attackers as they circled in for the kill.
Then, from the dark shadows that surrounded the walls of the courtyard, he had appeared as if from nowhere. All eyes had turned to him and there was a moment of perfect silence, which was violently broken as a primeval growl, which could have never come from a human throat, sounded out and echoed throughout the courtyard.
Moments later, all her attackers were dead, and then... and then the rain had gently started to fall.
Afterwards, they had talked. Apparently, the plot had only been discovered in the early evening. One of her cousins had hired the men and bribed one of the guards to let them in. Her cousin’s plan was not a simple one, though, as there had been a nasty twist - a twist that forced a bitter choice.
Fresh tears mixed with the rain as she remembered asking her saviour why he had made the choice he did. She had watched the softness in his deep blue eyes that had slowly crept in over the last two years, wither and die, to be replaced by the familiar harshness from years long past.
“Duty,” was his single word reply.
Then she had made plans, hasty plans.
Now, in the early hours of a new day, in the gentle rain, something dangerous had left the country house. He had names - Red Claw, Midnight Man, and more; however, she knew him as Nathanial West, her bodyguard.
By sending her bodyguard out into the night, those hastily drawn plans were being put into action. Her foolish cousin, Fredrick, had started it, but others would follow. Others would now enter the game. Why did people always call it a game? Well, it was more than a game to her. It was the life of her daughter. It was the future of her realm. It was friends lying dead in the house behind her, friends who had been alive only hours earlier. She would show them all. There was NOTHING she would not sacrifice to protect her daughter and the realm. Let them play their little games. Tonight, she would show them how the great game was truly meant to be played.
Nathanial had vanished from sight by now so Queen Alexandra turned to face the only other survivors - her maid, Mary, who was walking toward her with a cloak, and the wounded guard who held her daughter, Kathleen, in his arms.
As Mary wrapped the cloak around the Queen’s shoulders, she whispered, “He is gone, then?”
“Yes.”
“So it has started?”
“Yes.”
“Is he...it...back?”
Alexandra looked into Mary’s quizzical face and slowly nodded. Turning her eyes to the guard, she asked, “His name?”
“Jack Sorensen.”
Moving past Mary, wiping tears from her eyes, Queen Alexandra headed toward Jack Sorensen so that she could take her daughter in her arms.
Mary looked out into the dark beyond the country house walls. He would be walking, running, heading toward his goal and, with each step, he would be reverting back to what he was. The last two years would be wiped out before dawn. Mary stifled a sob and closed her eyes. Turning her head toward the sky, she let the rain wash across her face. The rain always hid her tears so well.
***
Nathanial walked out of Count Fredrick’s country house and turned his head up into the refreshing rain. The Queen had decided that he was to send a clear and precise message to the world by making an example of Count Fredrick. So clear was this message to be, that no one else would dare make another assassination attempt. A hasty decision - a decision she would later regret, no doubt.
But he was the Queen’s man, and so he did as he was commanded. Turning his head back toward the house, he studied his handiwork. There, nailed to the main gates, were Count Fredrick, his wife, and his two small sons. Behind them, not a living soul was left. He had killed everything. The fire that was just taking hold in the main part of the house would run unchecked and reduce the house to a ruinous state - a clear and precise message, if ever there was one.
Thinking back over the night’s events, Nathanial suddenly realised how easy it had been to slip back into old ways. It was almost as if the last two years had never happened. There had been a moment when he had felt an overwhelming sense of loss and pain - when he had told his tale to Alexandra - but he could not afford those emotions. Nathanial snorted and gave a short hard laugh. The price would be high if he ever gave in to them.
His eyes hardened and his mouth curved into a cruel mocking smile. To be what people wanted him to be, to do what he needed to do, he would have to become the old Nathanial West again. The last two years would have to be forgotten. Yet how could he forget?
“Fool,” Nathanial berated himself. Turning his head back toward the early morning sky, he let the rain wash across his face. He had always enjoyed the rain - it always brought him peace.
I thought I would post the prelude to 'Echoes of a Storm'to give you a taste of my writing style. If you like the Prelude, then you can read (for free) the first two chapters on Amazon simply by clicking on the book.
I hope you enjoy
Prelude
Rain
Her softly falling tears echoed the rain as she watched him walk away. He did not cry, but then, his life had made him forget how. So, in the gentle rain, just past midnight, she found herself crying for a man - a fool - who could not.
A fool with that deeply irritating mocking smile. “But then,” she thought sadly, “who was he mocking? Himself? The world? Both?” Even after all these years, she could never quite work out which. She continued to watch him, his slight limp giving him a very distinctive walk, as he finished crossing the courtyard and exit through the open gate. He was, in many ways, a nondescript man. He was average height, average weight, looked to be aged anywhere between thirty and forty with short brown hair. His clothes were as plain as he was.
An involuntary shudder ran through her body. He may seem plain and nondescript, but she knew what lurked within him, what hid beneath that façade he presented to the world.
As she thought about him, the events of this terrible evening arose in her mind. One moment, she was entertaining her guests; the next, men with swords had come crashing in. There had been screaming and shouting, fire and smoke, running and, of course, death. Somehow, her daughter - carried in her maid’s arms - a wounded guard, and herself had made it to the walled courtyard with the assassins close behind. She remembered her hope of escape turning to ash upon seeing the courtyard gates locked and barred. Hence, filled with grown despair, she had turned to face her attackers as they circled in for the kill.
Then, from the dark shadows that surrounded the walls of the courtyard, he had appeared as if from nowhere. All eyes had turned to him and there was a moment of perfect silence, which was violently broken as a primeval growl, which could have never come from a human throat, sounded out and echoed throughout the courtyard.
Moments later, all her attackers were dead, and then... and then the rain had gently started to fall.
Afterwards, they had talked. Apparently, the plot had only been discovered in the early evening. One of her cousins had hired the men and bribed one of the guards to let them in. Her cousin’s plan was not a simple one, though, as there had been a nasty twist - a twist that forced a bitter choice.
Fresh tears mixed with the rain as she remembered asking her saviour why he had made the choice he did. She had watched the softness in his deep blue eyes that had slowly crept in over the last two years, wither and die, to be replaced by the familiar harshness from years long past.
“Duty,” was his single word reply.
Then she had made plans, hasty plans.
Now, in the early hours of a new day, in the gentle rain, something dangerous had left the country house. He had names - Red Claw, Midnight Man, and more; however, she knew him as Nathanial West, her bodyguard.
By sending her bodyguard out into the night, those hastily drawn plans were being put into action. Her foolish cousin, Fredrick, had started it, but others would follow. Others would now enter the game. Why did people always call it a game? Well, it was more than a game to her. It was the life of her daughter. It was the future of her realm. It was friends lying dead in the house behind her, friends who had been alive only hours earlier. She would show them all. There was NOTHING she would not sacrifice to protect her daughter and the realm. Let them play their little games. Tonight, she would show them how the great game was truly meant to be played.
Nathanial had vanished from sight by now so Queen Alexandra turned to face the only other survivors - her maid, Mary, who was walking toward her with a cloak, and the wounded guard who held her daughter, Kathleen, in his arms.
As Mary wrapped the cloak around the Queen’s shoulders, she whispered, “He is gone, then?”
“Yes.”
“So it has started?”
“Yes.”
“Is he...it...back?”
Alexandra looked into Mary’s quizzical face and slowly nodded. Turning her eyes to the guard, she asked, “His name?”
“Jack Sorensen.”
Moving past Mary, wiping tears from her eyes, Queen Alexandra headed toward Jack Sorensen so that she could take her daughter in her arms.
Mary looked out into the dark beyond the country house walls. He would be walking, running, heading toward his goal and, with each step, he would be reverting back to what he was. The last two years would be wiped out before dawn. Mary stifled a sob and closed her eyes. Turning her head toward the sky, she let the rain wash across her face. The rain always hid her tears so well.
***
Nathanial walked out of Count Fredrick’s country house and turned his head up into the refreshing rain. The Queen had decided that he was to send a clear and precise message to the world by making an example of Count Fredrick. So clear was this message to be, that no one else would dare make another assassination attempt. A hasty decision - a decision she would later regret, no doubt.
But he was the Queen’s man, and so he did as he was commanded. Turning his head back toward the house, he studied his handiwork. There, nailed to the main gates, were Count Fredrick, his wife, and his two small sons. Behind them, not a living soul was left. He had killed everything. The fire that was just taking hold in the main part of the house would run unchecked and reduce the house to a ruinous state - a clear and precise message, if ever there was one.
Thinking back over the night’s events, Nathanial suddenly realised how easy it had been to slip back into old ways. It was almost as if the last two years had never happened. There had been a moment when he had felt an overwhelming sense of loss and pain - when he had told his tale to Alexandra - but he could not afford those emotions. Nathanial snorted and gave a short hard laugh. The price would be high if he ever gave in to them.
His eyes hardened and his mouth curved into a cruel mocking smile. To be what people wanted him to be, to do what he needed to do, he would have to become the old Nathanial West again. The last two years would have to be forgotten. Yet how could he forget?
“Fool,” Nathanial berated himself. Turning his head back toward the early morning sky, he let the rain wash across his face. He had always enjoyed the rain - it always brought him peace.
