Thursday's Hero - Shandor from Healwoman #MFRWauthor

Shandor warmed his hands at the small fire and studied his companions.  The priest, Thiasi mid Chu, leaned against a rock and sipped the chocha he’d brewed to complete their midday meal.  The firelight caught auburn glints in the man’s brown hair.  Was he from Keltoi?  If so, he was a rarity among the priests.  Men of that nome seldom had traffic with Midran.

The third member of the party met Shandor’s gaze.  Vorgan’s pale hair and deep brown skin marked his heritage from Nilos.  The sneer on his face showed his dislike of Shandor.  Vorgan counted his blood purer because his father was a priest and his mother a concubine.  So often during their years of study, he had called Shandor a half-breed.  The reason lay in Shandor’s Healwoman mother and the five years he had lived with her in Bethsada.

“’Twould be best if you work as a team,” mid Chu said.  “The temple of Midra in Keltoi isn’t an easy one to enter.”

Vorgan rested his hands on his knees.  “Shandor, do you agree to be my partner in this venture?”

“Why not?”  Shandor knew Vorgan had no intention of aiding one he considered a rival.  He never had.  Why would he change his pattern?  Their training in the Gate of the Shadows drew to an end.  Upon completion of this task, they would enter the Gate of the Militos, the final step toward entry into the priesthood.

Mid Chu added wood to the fire.  “Your destination lies about a kil to the north and east.  You must enter the complex, find the chapel and remove an object to prove you have penetrated the inner courts.  Bring your trophy to me for validation.”

“What should we take?” Vorgan asked.

“The choice is yours.  I’ll move the camp.  Once you have the object, you must track me.  When your find is verified, you will return to the Enclave and present the token and trophy to the guard at the gate.  You must arrive before the ending of the lunar of the Frost Moon.”

Shandor looked up.  “Have you ever been to the temple?”

“Twice.”

“Would you share your knowledge?”

The priest nodded.  “Spoken like a true Shadow.  What others know is always of value.”

Vorgan glared.  “I, too, would hear what you know.”

Mid Chu took a stick and made a sketch in the dirt.  “The walls form a triangle.  The temple is in the center.  Against the wall are their eatery, stables, warrior’s dormitories, and some storage sheds.  The priestesses sleep on the second floor of the temple.  There is a forecourt with three doors.  The quickest way to reach the chapel is through the second door.  From the entry hall, pass under the stairs, turn right, then left.  The chapel is at the end of the hall.”

Shandor studied the diagram until he could see the sketch with his eyes closed.

Thursday's Hero Kristan From The Amber Chronicles by Janet Lane Walters, #MFRWauthor

The youngest prince of Rivand stared at the sky.  The moon had risen and was new.  He lifted the bottle of wine and drank deeply.  If only he could find something to be other than the wastrel prince, a man without a place in the kingdom.  He drank again and finished the bottle.  When he gestured for another, he saw the palace page appear.  Kristen tried to make himself invisible.  There could be no other man or woman in this tavern being sought by the king.

He watched the page search the faces of the men gathered around the tables.  Perhaps he wouldn’t be seen here on the balcony.  His hopes were dashed when the page hurried through the crowded room and appeared at Kristan’s side.  “Your sire requests your presence.”

Kristin rose and followed the boy to the tavern door.  At least he hadn’t imbibed enough to make his stagger.  He mounted his horse and rode through town to the imposing stone building that had been his home for all his life.

As he entered the throne room, she saw his father waited.  His oldest brother usually sat at the king’s side.  Where was the crown prince?  Did this mean his heir was about to be born?  Kristen shivered.  One day, a crown prince might be called to face the Witch of the Woods. He recalled the cryptic words he’d read in his grandfather memoirs and remembered his vow to free the woman caught in the amber gem.

“Kristen,” his father’s voice was low and rumbled with anger.  “Your conduct is unbecoming to a prince.  I’m tired of hearing of your constant pursuit of wine, women and dice.”

Kristan straightened.  “What else is there for me?  My oldest brother follows you.  The second will be his advisor.  The third will head the army.  The fourth, the navy.  The fifth the treasury and the sixth the agriculture of Rivand.  There is nothing left for me.”

“Not so.  There is marriage.  One has been arranged with the daughter of Wevald.  Put your affairs in order.  You leave at the end of the week.”

“I don’t want to marry someone I’ve never seen.”  Kristan turned and fled the room.

“You will do as ordered,” the king shouted.

Kristan raced along the empty corridors until he reached his chambers.  He sat on the edge of the bed and wished the numbness of the liquor he’d drunk would return.  He had to make plans.  This marriage his father had arranged wasn’t for him.  From deep inside came the certainty that for him there was another destiny though what he didn’t know.

He rose.  He had to leave the palace tonight.  Where he would go, he wasn’t sure.  He found a haversack and quickly packed a few changes of clothes.  From the chest at the foot of his bed he took the sleeping blanket he had used on hunting trips.  His hand brushed a tear-shaped globe.  He lifted the amber crystal and held it to the candlelight.

“Emme,” he whispered.  His thoughts flashed to the night his grandfather had died and how the valet had brought the amber orb to him.  For years, he had kept the globe beside his bed and stared at the woman trapped inside.  Without knowing why, he tucked the sphere in his haversack.  He stuffed coins in his boots where many men kept knives.  He hurried to the stable and saddled his horse.  He rode quickly through the town and exited the gates and rode toward the forest.

The crescent of the new moon rose but the light cast was dimmed by the trees.  Though the leaves were those of spring and small, the trees were crowded.  Kristan heard a rustling.  The wind or an animal, he thought.  The small light cast by the crescent moon cast shadows.

“Hoy.”  The shout startled him.  Someone leaped from one of the trees and knocked him from the horse.  The animal squealed.

Kristan was unable to free his sword.  His attackers slashed with knives.  He was able to land a few blows before something hit his head so hard he was dazed.  He collapsed and held his breath.

The thieves grabbed his pack and began to rummage in the contents.  He was glad he had thought to hide his coins.

“What’s this?”

“Amber and a large chunk.”  Suddenly one of the men screamed.  “No.”

The amber globe fell to the ground.  The men ran.  Moonlight illuminated the globe and the shimmer around the sphere appeared to grow.  Kristen tried to get to his knees.  His head felt as thought he’d been spinning for he couldn’t believe what he thought he saw.

Thursday's Hero - Ivor From The Amber Cage by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #BooksWeLove

The wailing notes of the bagpipes lingered in the air. Ivor, Crown Prince of Rivand gasped deep breaths. He grinned. “Did I pass?” He squeezed the words out.

The old man smiled. “You have. Shame you can’t pursue what could be a brilliant career as a master of music.”

Ivor bowed his head. His passion for music overshadowed the duty his birth order dictated. Alas, the spotlight wasn’t for him.

The bells of the town clock chimed ten times. Ivor scowled. “I’ll be late for my morning meeting with my twin.” He dashed from the music room and ran through the halls of the palace to the salle.

Moments later, he donned the protective gear and drew his sword from the sheath. Time to face his brother in another senseless match. He had no taste for the fighting life his twin savored.

Andros raised his sword. “Ready to lose again?”

The glee in his twin’s voice rasped Ivor’s nerves. He hated these forced encounters. As crown prince martial arts must be mastered so he could lead the troops of Rivand if the country came under attack by one of the neighboring princedoms.

He had learned the movements of the dance of the sword and had practiced until they had become automatic. Fighting was alien to his nature. He feared suffering an injury to hands able to play any instrument. He shuddered as other the possibilities arose. A head injury could destroy the melodies waiting to emerge. What if a lucky blow harmed his throat to make singing impossible?

Andros attacked. Ivor defended. His twin was a master or the blade, excelled in strategy and was a superb negotiator. Andros embodied every skill a crown prince needed.

Ivor scowled. Had they been switched during the hectic moments following their birth?

The shout accompanying Andros’ lunge pulled Ivor into the present. He tried to turn the duel into a real fight. His brother’s blade neared his chest. Ivor froze. His sword flew through the air.

Andros laughed. “My win.”

Ivor nodded. “As usual.”

“Ivor!”

His body tensed. He stared toward the observation area overlooking the salle. Why was his father present during every defeat? He knelt with his head bowed.

“To my study now,” Prince Gregori shouted.

Ivor retrieved his sword and slid the blade into the sheath. His twin’s mocking laughter grated. Ivor’s hands clenched. He faced an angry tirade when all he wanted was to return to the music chamber and work on his latest composition, Lament for the Lost Princes.

The solstice was but three days away. On that date he would join the ranks of the vanished. Even now the moon moved toward full. Being lost seemed better than being the next ruler of Rivand.

He entered his father’s study and knelt at the feet of the ruling prince. He waited for the angry comments focusing on the qualities for his position as crown prince he lacked.

“Was there ever a time when you defeated Andros in a friendly match? You are Crown Prince. You must be first in all important matters.”

Ivor drew a shuddering breath. “What does how I perform matter? The solstice looms. The moon will be full. I will soon vanish like the other lost princes.”

Gregori scowled. “Your door will be guarded so there will be no chance you will leave. On the morning of the summer solstice you will marry. Your bride arrives tomorrow.” He lifted a stack of papers. “These will burn.”

Ivor recognized his compositions. “No!” Anger he couldn’t express tightened his throat. To speak would fire his father’s temper. Already his back burned with memories of floggings received for his failures to learn the skills needed by a crown prince. Acid rushed into his throat. He swallowed to keep from spewing.

“I rule here until I die. Then you will have your turn.” Prince Gregori shoved the papers into the fireplace and lit them with a glowing candle. “Tonight your instruments will burn. Rivand needs no music-performing fool as a ruler.”

“Let Andros be your heir. He’s better suited. Perhaps the midwife forgot which of us arrived first on the day we were born.”

“Do not think to escape your duty. You are dismissed.”

Ivor bowed. “I hear.” He backed from the room. Rebellion stirred. How could he see the musical instruments that brought him pleasure be destroyed?

He scurried to the music chamber. His teacher stood with his hands to his head. “I couldn’t stop him.”

“I know. ‘Twas not your fault.” Ivor pulled the most valuable lutes, fiddles and lap harps from the shelves. He added a few reeds and brass horns to the collection. “Give these to your most promising students, the ones who can’t afford the best. My father plans to destroy them tonight.”

“Why?”

“To rule I must forsake music.” Ivor slid his favorite flute into the sheath with his sword, taking care not to scratch the silver on the gemmed hilt. “Go quickly.” He pushed a wheeled hand cart to the rear door.

The moment the teacher left Ivor opened the door into the hall. His twin pushed past him. “What have you done?”

“Gave some gifts to the worthy.”

“Father said all the instruments are to be destroyed.

Ivor glared. “Go tell him what I’ve done. Don’t fear. You will have my place.”

“What do you mean?”

“The lost princes. Remember the tales our nurse told us. They are true. Already I feel a need to leave the palace. I’ll be glad to be gone. Without music Rivand is no place for me.”

Andros smiled. “I pray your words are true. I won’t report what you’ve done.”

Thursday's Hero From My new Release Horu's Chosen by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #BooksWeLove

Horu's Chosen (An Alternate Egypt Book 2)

It's here today. The second book of the alternate ancient Egypt fantasy is here as of today



Horu's Chosen (An Alternate Egypt Book 2)
Seth, an undercover cop has been betrayed by his handler. To escape he calls a number on a flyer and is transported to an ancient Egypt he doesn’t understand. He must rescue the Daughter from the evil priests of Aken Re. Merin is the Daughter....
amazon.com

A low voice whispered in his ear. Seth struggled to makes sense of the words. At first the rhythm and pattern of the sounds seemed wrong. Finally as though a key clicked open a lock in his head the words made sense.

“You are Horu’s Chosen. His temple has been corrupted by worshippers of a god alien to the Two Lands.”

Seth struggled to sit up. What was going on?

“You are here to rescue the Daughter and find the jewelry given to the first queen by the goddess and two gods.”

What the hell? Was he trapped in a dream where a disembodied voice spoke?

“Failure can bring death or slavery. During the days spent together you must remain apart from the Daughter. A hawk will come. A hawk will help.”

Weird. Seth stretched his hand in an attempt to grab the speaker and demand an explanation. No one was there. His hand dropped. He winced when it rapped a hard surface. Cautiously he opened his eyes to study his surroundings. Nothing seemed familiar. He squeezed his eyelids tight. Where was he?

A second glance added to the confusion. Was he trapped in a drug-induced dream? How could that be? He didn’t do drugs. He ran his hands along his body. All the parts were there but he was naked. He frowned. Sleeping in clothes was a habit. Being prepared for a quick escape was essential.

Strange aromas increased his puzzlement. He turned on his side and saw a row of naked men. Seth pushed into a sitting position. Nothing changed. He tamped a gush of panic. There must be an explanation.

Slowly memories rose. Disjointed like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Betrayal. The center. A flyer. Amara. Tira. Father Joe. Ramos. Coffee shop. Brownstone. Bob Tolena. Horoscope. Leo. Pieces clicked together. Seth remembered who he was and what had happened until the moment the wheel turned. Had he really entered another time and place?

“Will you go?”

“You will be given a task.”

Failure could mean death."

His breath escaped in a rush. Whatever the women had done, he was here. Who was Horu? Who was the Daughter? Where was he?

He rose. There were no windows, only narrow openings high on the walls. A curtain of strings with beads, shells and stones hung in the doorway. No chance of sneaking out unnoticed. If he could leave here he had no idea where he’d landed. He had to draw on his undercover skills and play the situation cautiously.

The curtain jangled. Three men entered. One wore a red robe. A short obese man with a metal collar carried a flail. The third, a muscular man, had a knife sheathed on his belt. Must be a guard.

The guard and the fat man were bald. The other man’s straight dark hair was cut to shoulder length.

Seth touched his head and exhaled. Hair remained long but tangled.

“Up, slaves.”

Seth’s mouth gaped. He understood but the words were in no language he recognized. This meant he’d been displaced in time and place.

Seth looked for clothes and saw none. He followed the other men from the room into a stone-paved courtyard. The walls looked like unpainted adobe.

A woman pointed to some kind of paste in a pottery jar. Her appraisal of his body made him want to turn his back. When the other men smeared this over their bodies, Seth did the same.

Leather buckets of water were poured over his head and flowed over his body. Seth caught a cloth and scrubbed including his head. After a second dousing, towels of thin material unlike the terry ones he used at home were provided. With water dripping from his hair Seth lined with the other men to receive a long strip of cloth. He watched the way the other men wrapped the linen into a loin cloth. He imitated the process.

A chunk of bread spread with cheese and topped with a thick slice of onion and a mug of liquid constituted breakfast. He ate the bread and washed it down with warm beer. His nose wrinkled. Sure would have liked an iced cold brew but a steaming cup of coffee would have been better.

“Come,” the fat man said.

Seth glanced at his companions. “Where are we going?”

“To the market square where we’ll be sold. You’re new. When did you arrive?”

And a stranger, Seth thought. “During the night. Don’t remember much until I woke.” His hands curled into fists. He hadn’t been warned about slavery. How long must he continue to stay one? He had his orders. He had to find the Daughter.

A frown wrinkled his brow. At home he’d been a slave to duty. Was his predicament any different here? Until he had more information he would continue where he’d been dumped. Definitely an interesting introduction to this strange world.

He marched with the other men to the market square. Seth stared at the booths and the people. Heaps of onions and melons waited to be purchased. Tantalizing aromas of cooking meats made his gut rumble. The line of men reached a clear space. He was directed to stand on a low platform. The morning sun made him sweat.

He turned to the man he’d spoken to before. “Don’t they feed us more than that small bite?”

“If you aren’t purchased by midday, you’ll return to the compound for cooked lentils and barley bread.”

Seth made a face. What he wanted was two eggs over easy, sausage and pancakes with a carafe of coffee. Wistful thinking. Good thing hunger whetted the appetite. “To drink.”

“Sweet water or beer.”

Seth’s shoulders slumped. The guard rapped his back. “Stand straight.” He pointed to the obese man. “He can order a flailing.”

With a nod Seth came to attention. Across the square he saw a young man and another of those red robes approaching. The obese man bowed to them. After a conversation with the fat man the pair strode along the line. He pointed to Seth and three others. A dialogue with the slave seller began. Money exchanged hands.

“You a fighter?” the young man asked Seth.

He shrugged. What did he know about the weapons of this land? “Unarmed combat. Can use a knife and can learn others.” He figured being a fighter would be better than doing some kind of slave labor. He thought of the documentaries he’d seen showing men pulling large block of stone to build pyramids.

“Mace, bow, spear?”

Seth closed his eyes. “Probably a mace and a spear. I’ve never shot a bow.”

The young man touched Seth’s arm. “Head shaved or a braid.”

“Braid.”

“A warrior’s choice.”

Before long Seth and the three others were bound in a line and ordered to follow the palanquin bearing the priest and the young man. They trudged along a narrow road of hard packed earth. In the distance, Seth saw a wall.

“The one wearing the red robe, who is he?” Seth asked one of his fellows.

“A priest of Aken Re.”

Thursday's Hero - Stephen from The Amber Dragon #MFRWauthor #BooksWeLove

The solstice full moon had just touched the horizon, Stephen Riva, crown prince of Rivand, stared at the Witch of the Woods.  With her hair the color of spun amber and eyes the brilliant blue of summer skies, her beauty fascinated him.  The words she spoke made him uneasy.  He frowned and turned toward his father.  The king glared at the woman.

The witch pointed a finger at the king.  “You have not won.  Fire will not destroy the garden or drive me from the home I have created.”  She spun and waved her hands.  All traces of the fire set by the king and his men vanished.  She grasped Stephen’s hand and pulled him into the garden.  “Confess your love for me.”

He shook his head.  “How can you speak of love?  Love does not strike in an instant and set a heart on fire.  Love grows like a flower from a seed, planted and carefully tended.”

A dreamy expression appeared on her lovely face.  “The moment I beheld you I knew you were mine.  Your dark hair, your handsome face and your muscular body have enchanted me.  I could drown in your moss green eyes.”

Stephen shook his head.  In all his twenty and one years he had never heard such nonsense.  “You will not have me.  I have a duty to Rivand, the land I will one day rule.”

“Do you have brothers?”

“Yes.”

“Then one of them can take on your duty to the land.  You have no reason to reject me.”

Stephen shook his head.  “There are three reasons.  Duty, honor and love.  My duty as crown prince of Rivand is to take the throne.  Should I run away from doing this I would lose honor?  I do not love you. Those are my reasons to reject you.”      

Her eyes narrowed.  “So be it.  If you will not be mine you will not be Rivand’s king.  A curse I lay upon the House of Riva.  Every hundred years a prince will be given a chance.  To give his heart to me or be taken into the amber orb and spend his life on another world.”

Stephen looked at her.  “I pray one day you will learn love does not happen in an instant and cannot be given on command.”

She smiled.  “And you may learn love can occur in an instant and become eternal.”

Though there were no clouds, thunder rumbled.  A streak of lightning flashed across the sky and struck the ground near Stephen’s feet.  He saw the sparks coalesce into a sphere imprisoning him behind the walls.  Stephen stretched his arms toward his father and the Witch of the Woods.  The walls of the orb were too distant to touch.  He turned and stared at a mass of trees.

The rustling leaves became voices urging him to walk.  His strides lengthened until he ran.  Was this a dream?  The branches of the trees scratched his face and arms.  He groaned.  Truly he had been brought to another place.

Stephen had no idea how long he walked.  The clusters of trees thinned.  Beyond them he saw a road and some distant buildings.  Before stepping onto the hard-packed earth he removed his coronet, his sword and most of his jewelry.  As a stranger in an unknown land he dare not appear hostile.  He wrapped his possessions in his cloak and hid them in a hollow tree.  With his boot knife he marked the spot.  Then he stepped onto the road and sought his new destiny.

* * *

Princess Valia stared at the seventeenth prince who had come to Lanton to court her.  Since the day her father had decreed she must marry, every available prince from the neighboring kingdoms had arrived at the palace.  This young man was her last possible choice for a spouse. She didn’t want him. She’d dreamed of marriage and had yearned for a man who would adore her. A man who made her heart flutter in her chest. Each one who had arrived had the qualities presented by this final candidate.

He was handsome.  The way he preened like a peacock meant he knew about his looks.  He acted as though his willingness to wed her was a gift and her acceptance a given.

Valia scowled.  How dare he think she had no choice?  How dare he 

Thursday's Hero - Seth from Horu's Choice by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #BooksWeLove

Though Horu's Chosen isn't out, the book is available for pre-order on Amazon. Come and visit with Seth and see why he has to make the choice to leave his life here.

Seth slumped in the subway seat and shielded his face with a newspaper. Of all the luck. He was on his way to a meet with his handler and he didn’t want to be recognized. With care he moved the tabloid to study Tira. Panic showed in her expression. Perspiration dotted her forehead. Her tee shirt bore dirty smudges. She snatched a piece of paper from the seat beside her and seemed to study the words. As the car slid into the third stop she jumped to her feet and followed the crowd.

Another bit of bad luck. His stop, too. Just before the doors started to close he jumped out and headed up the stairs. When he reached the surface he searched and saw her running across the street. She entered the coffee shop. Strike three. That was the site of his meet.

Damn. Not a good idea to go inside. He would be late but late was better than made. Not that he didn’t trust Tira, but Ramos wanted her and the drug dealer had ways of making people talk. Tira’s sister had been a user and seller. Luci had angered Ramos by not paying what she owed and stealing drugs.

Seth slipped into a dark doorway and waited. Five minutes. Ten. At the fifteen minute mark Tira exited and stopped to use her phone. Moments later she dropped something on the sidewalk and hurried away.

Seth dashed forward and picked up the paper and read.

            Life got you down? Have unsolved problems?

            Looking for an escape? The answer is in your stars.

            A counselor is available night and day.

            Dial 1- 800- 555- ASTR

He read the paragraph again. Truth or scam? Had this piece of paper lured Tira into danger? Should he follow her? He frowned and peered down the street. She had vanished. When he’d warned her not to go home, he’d done more than he should have. But he liked her and knew she’d done nothing wrong. Her sister’s murder had put Tira in danger. The cops would have questioned and released her. Then Ramon would have stepped in. Seth hoped she had a safe place to hide. Holding this thought close he tucked the flyer in his pocket and entered the coffee shop.

As he slipped into the rear booth his handler glared. “You’re late.

“Better late than identified.”

Bob Tolena rubbed his hand over his receding hairline. “What?”

“The girl who just left the shop was Luci Gray’s sister.”

“And you let her get away?”

Seth shrugged. He grabbed the cup of coffee and drained the bitter brew hoping a caffeine jolt would unclog his head. If he didn’t get some rest soon he would make a fatal mistake.

The waitress arrived and refilled his cup. She slammed a plate with a burger and fries in front of Seth. He glanced at the older man. “Yours?”

“Not. Eat. You look like hell.”

As soon as the waitress left, Seth looked up. “That lead to Ramos is dead. What now?”

“If you see that young woman, have her picked up.”

“Why? She’s innocent.”

“Don’t you think someone official should make that call? No matter. We’ll keep an eye on her.” The older man slid a piece of paper across the table. “There’s some new info surfacing. You still have an in at that church-run community center?”

“Sure.” Seth picked up the burger and took a bite. How much longer could he continue undercover? For two years he had slunk through the alleys passing information to his handler. Three drug busts based on what he’d learned had gone down. But the bosses wanted more and more. Ramos would be the biggest.

Seth’s hands shook. Would he ever see the end? He felt older than his twenty-five years. “I want out.”

“Not yet. You’re young. Hang in there for another year or two. About the center, Ramos is sniffing around.”

The burger dropped to the plate. A year was too long. So was a month. He hadn’t gone to the academy or joined the force for this secretive life.

Bob clamped a hand on Seth’s wrist. “You’re good at this. Pete would be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

Seth rose. He felt sick. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

By bus and on foot he made his way to one of his hidey holes. He stretched on the bed and slept.

Thursday's Hero - Kashe from Bast's Warrior by Janet Lane Walters #MFRWauthor #BooksWeLove

Kashe of Mero sat on his bed in his chamber of the family compound. His head pounded. When he opened his eyes he saw the day had progressed into late afternoon. The bright light made him wince. He recalled the past night’s celebration for the retirement of the family’s arms master who had been his mentor and friend. From the Tuten he had learned the skills of a warrior. Last night Kashe had finally defeated his mentor with weapons and a capacity for beer.

“Kashe.” His father’s voice stabbed like a dagger.

He groaned and sat up. The drum in his head banged. Leave me alone, he wanted to shout. The Nomarch of Mero’s anger toward his middle son was nothing new. What did he want now?

As second son Kashe had been marked for the priesthood. He had no desire to become a priest. He found satisfaction in his role as a warrior. Yet, duty called for obedience.

If any other temple had been chosen he might have agreed. He had no taste for this newly risen cadre of men seeking to force their god into the circle of goddesses and gods of the Two Lands. Aken Re had been unknown until the invaders had arrived. The army of those men had been defeated so why did their priests linger?

The beaded curtain jangled adding cacophonic notes to the beating in his head. “Answer me.” The nomarch entered and halted at the foot of Kashe’s bed. “Rise and present yourself in the central hall. We have guests. Your older brother has news of importance.”

Kashe groaned. He and Pian were a year apart in age and generations in philosophy. In embracing the new religion, His brother had seen an advantage for bringing his ambitions to fruition. He believed the priests would smooth his path to the pharaoh’s chair.

Kashe sat on the edge of the bed and considered his brother and his plans. Pian was slender and shorter than Kashe. He fit the picture of an ideal pharaoh in appearance but not in character. He was cruel and selfish. His sense of justice and honor were lacking. He had no love for Kashe. 

“Throwback” was the mildest of the names Pian used as needles to jab his younger brother. Kashe had strengths his brother lacked. Every match on the training field had ended with Kashe as the victor.

He rose. He couldn’t help that in stature and build he resembled the Nubian ancestors his father and older brother chose to forget in their desire for power. If Pian became pharaoh the Nomarch of Mero would become his son’s chief advisor.

“Are you coming?” his father asked.

If he said no who knew what would happen. Kashe stretched. “As soon as I wash and dress.” Though he would rather have bathed he would make do here. He glanced in the polished metal mirror. His warrior’s braid was neat enough. He poured water from a pitcher into a basin and washed. After donning a fresh kilt he fitted wrist and arm bands and selected a collar necklace.As he left the family sleeping quarters he braced for the evening meal, the main one of the day. He entered the central hall and hid a desire to duck behind one of the pillars. On the dais his parents sat with a pair of priests. Their gold medallions glittered in the torch light. His older brother stood before the men.

As Kashe neared the platform he noticed the robes were embroidered with gold-rayed discs representing their god. The pair were opposites. One was rotund, smiling and fluttering his hands while speaking. The other was lean with a hawk-like nose and a somber expression. Kashe noticed his younger brother lingered in the shadows near the dais. If anything was to be learned Namose would know.

The nomarch gestured. He strode past his sisters who were engaged in a board game and gossip. 

When Pian’s voice took on a tone both servile and arrogant Kashe grimaced.

“My lords, Oris and Hebu, beloved of Aken Re, has the daughter been found? I so desire to look in her face and claim her as my chief wife. The honor you offer humbles me.”

The rotund priest’s smile broadened. “As yet we have not found her, but the signs point to where she is hidden. When the auspicious hour arrives we will claim her.” He turned from Pian to the nomarch. “You know the price.”

The nomarch pointed to Kashe. “My lords of Aken Re, this is my middle son. He is skilled with weapons and has a vast knowledge of strategy. He will enter your temple as a priest.”

Both men studied Kashe. Their gazes moved from his head to his feet. Embarrassment and shame over the avidity of their appraisal made him flush. He was not some piece of livestock or a slave to be purchased. A cauldron of anger bubbled.

Oris rubbed his fleshy hands. “Indeed, he is magnificent.”

The thin priest’s eyes narrowed. He addressed his companion in an unfamiliar language. “Nomarch, he will do nicely,” he added.

Kashe wanted to rub his arms to ward off a sudden chill, but he wouldn’t allow the pair to see his distaste and fear. He kept his gaze steady and examined the thin priest. Hebu’s eyes were serpent-like, dull and flat. Kashe’s hands formed fists. Though Oris had been named as the chief priest, his companion was the more dangerous of the pair. Another thing became clear. Hebu belonged to the defeated enemy. Kashe had heard that language from a prisoner his father had brought to the compound as a slave.

Oris nodded. “He will be the perfect battle leader for our men.”

Pian made a face. “He will be yours when I become pharaoh.”

The nomarch shook his head. “He will be theirs when I decree.”

Kashe drew a deep breath. “Father, I beg you to change your mind. I have no desire to serve in any temple. I’m no scholar and have no knowledge of portents and omens. I’ve no wish for easy living or in having my days ordered by rituals that allow no freedom.” He turned to leave.

His father grasped his arm. “You will obey. Your sacrifice will undo all your willfulness and the shame your tainted heritage has brought to me. When this new moon completes the cycle you will enter the temple of Aken Re.”

Though he remained until the evening meal ended his thoughts centered on finding a way to escape his father’s command. He had to leave home, but where would he go? He listened to his father, older brother, and the priests as they made plans. Finding the missing daughter of the last pharaoh was their goal. The priests sought her. So did his father. The one who found her first would control the future of the Two Lands.

As soon as the meal ended Kashe retreated to his sleeping chamber. He had no desire to listen as more schemes were hatched and scenarios developed. He thought of escaping to his favorite beer house, but not tonight. The entourage accompanying the priests was quartered on the roof of the house and in the garden. He had no desire to have his departure noted.

He parted the beaded curtain and strode into his chamber. A pile of scrolls stood on the low table. He opened one and crushed the thin papyrus sheet. “The Ways of Aken Re, the True and Only God.”

Distaste curved his mouth into a scowl. He wanted to burn the scrolls or slash them to shreds. Not a good idea, he decided. Know your enemy. His mentor had repeated those words until they were engraved in Kashe’s mind. Though Tuten had meant this advice for contests of arms Kashe believed they applied to his current situation. He would read the scrolls, but not tonight. The crescent moon didn’t provide enough light. Neither would the saucer lamp. He retired to bed for a night’s sleep filled with dreams he wanted to forget.

For two days Kashe read. The contents of the scrolls disgusted him. The priests of Aken Re had diluted and twisted the teachings of the temples of the Two Lands and skewed them to fit their version of the world. They intended to make their god supreme. There were tales in the scrolls telling how Aken Re had defeated the ancient goddesses and gods of the Two Lands, major and minor and eaten their essences.

He finished the last scroll. What now? Did the rotund priest intend to remain here until the moon ended? The serpent-eyed one had vanished. Most of the entourage was now housed near the river. The departure of the strangers had relieved some of Kashe’s fears. Not all, for he had no plan to escape the fate his father had decreed.

With a scowl he scooped the scrolls and carried them to the west loggia. There, he dumped them in a heap on one of the low tables. As he neared his chamber he heard two of the slaves speaking. Their gossip made him smile. The remaining priest planned to leave in two or three days.

Kashe returned to his chamber and went to the window. When a large hawk landed on the sill he stepped back. He stared at the avian. The bird made no attempt to attack. he held out his arm. The hawk dropped a scroll and an amulet that landed on the floor with a click. The avian settled on Kashe’s wrist cuff. He stared into its eyes.

“Horu,” Kashe said.

The hawk’s head bobbed as though in answer. “Horru.”

Did hawks have names? “I’ll call you Horu Ka, soul of the god of the skies.” The bird returned to the window. Kashe picked up the gold amulet. A grin crossed his face as he read the hieroglyphics. “Chosen of Horu.” Here was the perfect reason to refuse his father’s plans for him. Would the nomarch and Pian accept the calling? Kashe was sure he would learn.

He lifted the scroll and read the words.

Three will come from afar, warrior, ruler and advisor will be joined by three from the Two Lands. United, they will drive away those who seek to destroy the land and the people. Success brings prosperity. Failure means death. During the time when each pair works to complete their task they may not join flesh to flesh. Celibate they must remain until their quest ends lest disaster strikes the Two Lands.

He walked from his chamber into the central hall where the family and the priest had gathered for the evening meal. His father gestured. “You’ve been hiding in your chamber for days. Have you decided to obey?”

Kashe shrugged. “I’ve been reading the scrolls. They’re in the loggia. The words left me with no desire to become a priest of Aken Re. What I read sounded like lies.”

Pian jumped to his feet. “You will not usurp my place. I will be pharaoh. All the power and wealth of the double crown will be mine.”

“I have no wish to rule or serve the priests.”

The nomarch glared. “You have been promised to them. Your battle skills will be needed to bring the stubborn people of this land to worship the one and only god.”

Oris smiled. “You cannot resist. You are ours.”

Kashe sucked in a breath. We’ll see, he thought. The amulet burned against his chest. He leaned forward and wondered why they didn’t see the medallion. Was it invisible for a reason? He ate and fled to his room. As he walked down the hall he heard the slap of sandals on the stone and braced for an attack.

“You must listen to them,” his younger brother said. “If you disobey Father, the priest will send serpents after you.”

“Don’t fret, little brother. Come to my chamber. I’ve something to show you.” Kashe parted the curtains so Namose could enter first. “This is why I can’t go.” He held out the amulet. “A hawk brought this to me.”

Namose studied the gold circle. “Chosen of Horu.” He looked up and gasped. “At the window.”

Kashe grinned and extended his arm for the bird. “Horu Ka, this is Namose, my younger brother.” 

The hawk tilted his head. “As you see I’ve been selected by the god of the skies.”

Namose nodded. “And you will leave home.”

“I believe I must.”

“I want to go with you.” The youth’s dark eyes held a plea. “If you can’t serve them I fear Father will send me or one of our sisters to their temple. The priests have a son or daughter from every nome except Mero in their service. They want Father and Pian to follow their orders. Our nome is the largest and richest of all. I don’t trust the priests. If I must serve a god I would choose Toth, the god of wisdom.”

Kashe looked away. Since he had no idea where to go, how he could take a boy who had just reached his fifteenth year? “You must remain here until I can find a safe place. Then I will send for you.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes.” He studied his younger brother. Here was the male member of the family with a strong knowledge of the land. If only their father didn’t favor Pian. The oldest son was their father’s favorite. Namose, the youngest, was ignored by the nomarch and favored by their mother.

“When are you going?”

“Not tonight. I’m going to a beer house to think.” He pushed Namose to the door. “Better if you don’t see me leave. If they discover I’m out, you can truthfully say you left me in my chamber.”

Namose paused outside the curtain. “Good thinking.”

Kashe waited until his brother vanished before crossing to the window. He slipped out and crept across the garden to the rear gate. Once beyond the wall, the hawk landed on his wrist guard. Kashe strode to the riverside village. A few mugs of beer and a good fight might be an outlet for the energy coursing through his body.

Thursday's Hero - Neal from The Doctor's Dilemma #MFRWauthor #Suspense

Neal McKay put the last suture in the jagged cut on his patient’s calf. He stripped off his gloves and stepped back from the table. He glanced at the clock. Nearly three PM. He should have been home an hour ago, but the day hadn’t gone as planned. As the only doctor in town, this was the norm.     

            As usual, his day off had been filled with emergencies. A fractured tibia, a case of congestive heart failure, an acute allergy attack and now this.

            They -- his wards -- should be at the house. He groaned and felt no more prepared for parenthood than he’d been the day he’d learned about his foster sister’s death -- a week after her funeral. Even if he’d known, he wouldn’t have been able to leave his patients to attend the service.

            He groaned. The thought of being responsible for the twins’ care brought waves of insecurity. None of his experiences in the past had prepared him for this day.

            “Do you want to do the dressing?”

            Neal looked at the red-haired nurse. “He’s all yours.”

            “Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.” Jack Gardner glared.

            “If you’re talking about the patch job, just doing my thing.” Jack’s reaction made Neal chuckle. In college, they’d spent hours one-upping each other. He missed the days when they’d been like brothers.

            Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem you need solved?”

            “You might say that.”

            “I’m not sure I’m qualified.”

            “I don’t know about that.” Neal watched Patty Sue Crawford’s gaze center on his friend. He grinned. Maybe today was the turning point. Since his arrival in Prairie ten months before, she’d pursued him like a wrangler after a runaway steer.

            “Can I go back to the ranch?’ Jack asked.

            Neal frowned. “Only if you promise to avoid horses and cattle until the stitches are out.”

            “How long?”

            “A week.”

            “I can do that.”

            Neal doubted the truth of the statement. Since Jack’s return to the ranch last month, he seemed bent on proving he was Cowboy of the Year.

            “I’d rather admit you for the night. Give you some intravenous antibiotics and injections for pain. Once the local wears off, you’re going to know you’ve been hurt.”

            Jack slid to the edge of the table. “No hospital. What if I stay at my grandmother’s?”

            “Might work, especially after I tell Miss Hattie to tie you to the bed. Your injury is nothing to take lightly.”

            Jack laughed. “Grandmother will see that I obey orders. She should have been a general. You coming to the barbecue Saturday?”

            “I wouldn’t miss it,” Patty Sue said.

            Jack looked away. “Honey, your presence is a given. I meant Doc here.”

            Neal shrugged. “I’ll see how things go. My wards arrive today. I’ll probably be too busy learning how to be a daddy.”

            “I can’t imagine you with a pair of doggies.”

            Neither could Neal, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “I don’t have a choice.”

            “Guess not. I kind of envy you. You’ve achieved fatherhood without the M word.” Jack chuckled. “Bring the doggies with you. The ladies will love them.” He shook his head. “Never thought you’d be saddled with kids. They’ll make big changes in your life.”

            Patty Sue opened a dressing kit. “I think Neal -- Dr. McKay will be a wonderful father.”

            How did she manage to make a deliberate slip of the tongue seem natural?  “Thank you, Ms. Crawford. See that Jack has a copy of the discharge instructions and make an appointment for Friday.” He waved to Jack. “I’ll call the prescriptions to the pharmacy and have them delivered to Miss Hattie’s.”

            “See you and the doggies Saturday,” Jack called. “I’m sure Grandmother expects to see you there.”

            Neal nodded. He’d be at the barbecue with the twins or Miss Hattie would come for him. The town’s matriarch was used to having her way.

            He strode down the hall to his office. Parties at the Gardner mansion were events to be experienced, but he wasn’t sure he could handle an evening of listening to the benefits of life in Prairie.

            He had to go -- home. But there were things he had to complete before he left. He welcomed the delay in facing this new responsibility and sat at his desk to phone the drugstore and write a note on Jack’s chart.

            Home -- the twins -- his legacy. He groaned. Jack was right.

            Two babies would force changes in his lifestyle that he wasn’t ready to make. He wasn’t even sure where to begin.

            Instead of heading home, he reached for a stack of letters he’d received in response to his queries about another temporary position. The time to move had come. A year was long enough to stay in one place.

            But he had a family now. His choice of where to head next had to include them.  How could he make a home for the twins?  He’d been raised as a foster child in a series of placements. A football scholarship had allowed him to escape the last foster home where he’d endured three years of being treated as an outsider. He slammed up barriers against the memories of those days.

            Those memories brought no answers to his current dilemma. His lifestyle didn’t lend itself to an instant family. The longest he’d stayed in one place had been the four years in college and the same amount in medical school. Every time he considered staying in one place, his anxiety level peaked.

            He shoved the letters in a drawer and left the office. He’d do his best for Sherri’s babies but he couldn’t promise them a stable life and a real family. With this thought firmly in place, he left the clinic and jogged down the street toward his rented house to face his foster sister’s attempt to turn him into a family man.

Thursday's Hero - Simon from Rekindled Dreams #MFRWauthor

“Asshole.” Pressing his hands against the metal desk, Simon Parker glared at the head of the Narcotic’s Division. His teeth clenched. He would not lose his temper and shout the words circling like poison darts in his thoughts.

His left leg tensed. The quads tightened. Though the wound had healed, the agony of the day the bullet tore into his flesh returned with a roar. An image of his dead partner’s blank eyes fueled his anger. Only a few threads of sanity kept him from erupting in an action he would regret. At the moment, his single desire was slamming his fist into the sorry bastard’s face.

Captain Paley half rose from his chair. “I’ll ignore that comment.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” A burn seared Simon’s gut.

“You’re still under my command and you’ll do what I order.”

“I don’t think so.”

Paley grasped the edge of his desk. “You’re cleared for duty. You’re going undercover with the Garsis’ gang.”

“Not going to happen.” Simon pulled two envelopes from the pocket of his windbreaker.

“You’ll do as ordered.”

“This isn’t the army.” Simon drew a deep breath that did nothing to calm his temper. I asked for a transfer to any division or precinct. I’d even go back to walking a beat. Anywhere but Narcotics.”

“Your transfer was denied,” Paley said.

“Where’s the letter?”

“You’re needed here. Your experience is valuable. Just shove your hissy fit in a drawer and follow orders.”

Simon dropped his badge and gun on the desk. More of his control frayed. He didn’t care that the office door was open and every ear in the outer room was tuned to the discussion in here. He wanted out before his temper erupted.

Drawing a deep breath he held his fists at his side. “I won’t work another day for an asshole.” He stabbed the envelopes with a finger. “My resignation is effective immediately. Here’s a copy of my request for a transfer. You can’t bury them in your files this time. Copies have been sent to everyone I could think of.” He whirled and strode to the door.

“Parker, get back here.” Paley’s voice reached a level even the dead could hear. “We’re not finished.”

“I am.”

“Just listen to me. Pull off this job and you’ll be golden.”

Simon stomped to the door. “Too late. I quit. I’m done. I’m out of here.” Could he make his decision any clearer?

“I’ll recommend you for a promotion.”

“Not going to bite your carrot.” The words he’d held back seeped closer to an eruption. He nearly turned to blast the man and halted the action. No sense being arrested for assault. Cops fared poorly in prison.

“Why walk out?” The shouted question reached Simon. “Give me a good reason.”

“To save my life. Not gonna let you or anyone put me on a slab.” He slammed the door to Paley’s office and stomped into the outer room. Anger snapped the last thread restraining his temper. If he’d had his gun he would have shot the bastard.

The desks in the outer office were mainly empty. The few men and women present pretended to be busy. His glare must have warned them not to poke.

At the elevator he pressed the down button in a series of impatient thrusts. What now? He had no idea but anywhere but here would do. The doors opened. Not anywhere. There were a few places he never wanted to visit again like the abandoned warehouse and the hospital or…

Not going there.

When Simon stepped outside, the smells of the city slapped him. Exhaust fumes from passing cars. The odors of people passing by. Hints of cooking food, garbage and some unidentifiable stenches.

Sounds made his head ache. Horns blared. Rap, pop, and strains of other music rushed past. The buzz of passing conversations reminded him of swarming bees.

Instead of taking a series of buses, he hailed a cab and gave his address. He sank against the cushions to find the calm center he’d lost days ago when he’d learned his request for a transfer hadn’t been received.

At the apartment building, he paid the cabby and rode the elevator to the third floor. He opened the door and wrinkled his nose. Place smelled stale just like his life. He opened several windows hoping to catch a breeze. The April day had turned warmer than predicted.

He strode to the kitchen for a beer. The red circle around the date brought a scowl. A former female friend had circled dates on every page for special days. Happy Birthday. Number twenty eight. Big deal.

He grabbed a beer and peered into the nearly empty shelves. Should he hit the corner deli? Maybe tomorrow. He tapped a number and ordered a loaded pie. Maybe he’d light a candle. One would suffice.

Back in the living room he kicked off his shoes, took a swig and groaned. He needed a life. The weeks since his release from the hospital had found him spending more tine here than usual. Trips for physical therapy, to a local restaurant or to the deli marked his social schedule.

His gaze swept over the room and he noticed how few personal touches had accumulated in the five years he’d lived in the apartment. A few snapshots, a diploma, books and the small wooden box he’d taken from Fern Lake when he’d run. The apartment could belong to anyone.

One month left on the lease. He had until then to decide whether to renew or not. Until he decided what was next on his agenda, he couldn’t sign for another year. He loved being a cop. Hadn’t minded Narcotics until the asshole Paley had been made boss.

Pizza arrived. He set the box on the glass top of the coffee table, pulled a slice free and turned on the TV. Until he found a new path he was a man of leisure.

Thoughts of doing nothing made him swallow a huge bite. He had enough in the bank to last a year or so. His jaw clenched. Doing nothing wasn’t his style. He’d never just lazed about.

As he finished a second slice, a persistent buzz annoyed him. Not his cell or the burner phone. What the hell. Who would call on the land line? Only one person ever did. He dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the receiver of the wall phone.

“Hello.”

He recognized the voice. Was she calling the way she always did on a major holiday or his birthday? “Aunt May, guess you remembered.”

She gasped. “I’d forgotten. Happy Birthday.”

Simon’s hand tightened on the receiver. He heard huskiness in her voice. Had she been crying? “What’s wrong?” The sound of her blowing her nose reached him.

“It’s Randy.”

What had his cousin done to make his aunt cry? There had been several calls from her over the years when Randy had been in trouble. “Tell me.”

“He was killed in an automobile accident last night.”

Simon wished he was close enough to offer her comfort. She’d always been strong and Randy had been her most troubled child. “When?”

“Around midnight.”

“Where?”

“He and his fiancé were on their way from dinner at the Club.”

Simon felt like he’d been kicked by a mule. A memory of the winding road from the building high on the hill outside Fern Lake flashed into view.

“Fiancée? What do you mean?”

Though he and his aunt had talked on Christmas Day, his cousin hadn’t been mentioned. Had he missed something? About two years ago, Randy had married Simon’s high school sweetheart. “I thought he was married.”

May cleared her throat. “He and Dana divorced seven months ago.” She sighed. “Their parting shouldn’t still upset me since he didn’t treat her nicely.”

Simon sucked in a breath. A dozen memories from the days when he’d lived at the Grantlan mansion crowded his thoughts. He shoved them away. Anything that happened back then would stay there. Moving forward was his style.

“Did he abuse her?” He couldn’t contain the question.

“Not in a physical way.” She paused. “His drinking and womanizing were painful for her. She received little support when she tried to get him to seek help. Robert didn’t approve of the marriage. Neither did Patricia.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Come for the viewing and stay for the funeral. There are things we need to discuss.”

Simon’s gut clenched. The small scars on his back itched. Randy was dead. Didn’t change any of Simon’s feelings toward most of the Grantlan family. He cared for Aunt May. His mother’s sister had welcomed him even though she hadn’t spoken to his parents since they’d eloped. After their deaths she’d insisted her husband give him a home.

He drew a deep breath. What new bomb would blow up his life? He’d resigned from a job he’d liked because he’d refused to obey Paley’s orders. Years ago he’d taken off because Dana had denied him what he’d wanted. He’d been an asshole that day. He groaned. Every time he reached a turning point he walked away. Move forward and don’t look back, he’d told himself. Would returning to Fern Lake be a mistake?

“Simon, are you there?”

“Yes.”

“Will you come?”

He swallowed against the huge lump forming in his throat. He’d lived in the Grantlan mansion for eight miserable years. No day had passed without being told he wasn’t worthy of being part of the family. Only the huge fortune his aunt had inherited from her family had made her suited to become a Grantlan.

“I’m not sure I can take the time off.” His face burned but he couldn’t tell her he didn’t care about Randy. In fact he felt glad.

“I’m sure they’ll give you the days for a family funeral.”

Since there was no one to grant him leave, she was right. His own reluctance to retrace his tracks held him back.

“Simon, please. I’m afraid trouble is brewing.”

“What kind?”

“Patricia is out of control. She’s making wild accusations and spouting conspiracy theories. Said Dana sabotaged Randy’s car or Melanie grabbed the wheel. You know how close she and Randy were.”

“Can’t Robert control her?”

“He’s angry about something to do with the business. Keeps saying Randy picked a bad time to die.”

Is any time good? “Why?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t discuss business with me. What if Dana comes to the funeral home? She and I have become friends. What if Patricia attacks her?”

He shouldn’t care but he did. Simon released the breath he held. He had no place to be. “I’ll come tomorrow.” Would he regret the decision?

“I’ll have your room prepared.”

“Don’t. I can’t stay there.” Thoughts of being in that house again brought a rush of acid into his throat. Ten years ago he’d vowed never to enter the Grantlan mansion again.