One last preview for THE GRAY KINGS

Here, we check in on Lock Synclaire as he juggles bandits along with unresolved anger from his prior experiences in Graylands….

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There was a time when the thought of slaying another, even in defense, made Lock Synclaire sick to his stomach. Although he learned to use it, and never ruled out the possibility he might need to, the idea of striking another down with his sword seemed a far-off and foreign concept left to daydreams and imagination. The first time he did wind up killing someone—a thief who charged at his brother with a knife—the act haunted him for weeks after.

Those days seemed a long time ago now as he blocked an attack from the red-cloaked bandit. Steel clashed against steel with a ring that sounded even louder amidst the snow-covered courtyard. He got a good look at his foe’s chapped face before countering with a slash to the midsection. The bandit’s eyes bulged when the blade cut open his belly, and he let out a surprised gurgle as he crumbled to the ground.

Lock wasted no time or thought for his fallen opponent and pressed on. They called themselves the Crimson Raven—denoted by their red cloaks—and had been marauding since the end of summer. They started further north but were making their way south, concentrating on smaller villages the local militias wouldn’t bother defending. Lock and his companions were on their way back to Aster, and he was unwilling to let innocent people be victimized.

He’d seen enough of that already.

“Lockhart!”

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We’re getting closer.

For now, let’s check in with former Chosen One, fallen princess, and all-around grump Katrina Lamont as she has a tense encounter with the local authority….

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The private chamber of Major Sonya Brayker was akin to an office or study. Located on the Bear’s third floor, a large desk sat before the window overlooking Lake Just. Maps and scrolls lined the walls, along with a collection of swords and axes. Two pairs of braziers in the corners kept the room lit and warm. A backdoor led to a darkened chamber, likely the Major’s private quarters where she slept and washed.

Katrina was seated in front of the desk along with Dinah-Celeste. Snow tapped against the window, but there was nothing to see of the lake beyond except total darkness. Somewhere unseen, a clock ticked away. The Dinah seemed at ease, sitting with her hands folded on her lap like a school-girl awaiting her instructor. In Katrina’s experience, getting called to the teacher’s desk rarely meant good things.

After a brief wait, the Major finally appeared. She was a large and hard looking woman that appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties. Stillwell must have given her Anathema, because she had the black sabre in her hand when she entered. Her scarred face was stern as she studied the blade, and the cold look she gave Katrina revealed this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat.

“I recognize this metal,” she said. “It comes from the Dark Lands.”

The Dinah let out a low gasp.

“I’ve been told.”

“How did you get it?”

“I took it from the man I killed. His name escapes me.” She paused, hearing another gasp from the Dinah. “He was trying to kill me, for what it’s worth.”

Brayker tightened her lips, though Katrina couldn’t tell if it was due to her explanation or the sound of her harsh, scratchy voice. The Major put the sword back in its sheath and took the seat behind her desk, chewing on what appeared to be tobacco.

“I’m told you claim to be Katrina Lamont.”

“That’s my name.”

“And by that, you mean…?”

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “The.”

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Time for another preview of The Gray Kings, the upcoming third volume in the Graylands saga.

Here, we catch up with “notorious outlaw” Krutch Leeroy as he finds himself in a tight spot….

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It occurred to Krutch that, in spite of his rotten reputation and worse luck, he’d only seen the inside of a proper dungeon once.

The room was bare, with no windows or furnishing of any kind save the lone table and seat. It wasn’t lit with a brazier or even candles, but with four glowing crystals posted at each corner that gave off a sterile, cold light. At a guess, he assumed this to be an interrogation room, and took comfort in seeing there were no torture devices. As it was, his only real discomfort were the metal cuffs binding his wrists together.

At least it’s warmer in here than outside, he thought as his captors entered.

The first was Jeremiah Escudo, a young man of Mezan descent by the look of his tanned face and dark hair. He wore basic leathers, looking like a ranger of some sort, but was distinguished by the green cloak worn over his coat. Though outwardly poised, his brown eyes were fierce and focused. In his hands, he carried Krutch’s pistol and the two bandolier belts where he kept the shells.

With him was Major Sonya Brayker—an impressive woman of muscle with short brown hair, dark eyes, and a thick scar down the right side of her face. Though without armor, she wore the recognizable red and blue colors of the Sentry Elite, and she strolled into the room with the swagger of someone in command. Under her arm was a thick folder of papers which she placed on the table without taking her eyes off their prisoner.

“Krutch Leeroy,” she said, chewing on something. “The Krutch Leeroy … right here in my base.”

“It would seem so.”

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