Blood Oath (Blood Oath #2)
by Amanda McCrina
Release Date: June 19, 2018
Publisher: Month9Books
SYNOPSIS
The aftermath of what happened in the capital has shaken Torien to the core. Battling self-doubt and bitterness, he must find his resolve as he is sent back to Tasso to quell a violent uprising on the Road.
But Torien will need more than resolve to navigate the deadly path before him. His troops are inexperienced and his new adjutant untrustworthy. A series of murder attempts leaves the whole camp on edge. As the threat of mutiny builds, the mission seems doomed before they even reach Tasso—and Torien is beginning to suspect it was meant that way. He and his men are being set up to fail.
With his best friend in the hands of the rebels, his commanding officer refusing to negotiate a peace treaty, and his own men ready to turn on him at any moment, Torien must decide once and for all how much he’s willing to sacrifice for an empire he no longer believes in.
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Author's Note:
DELETED SCENE
Author's Note:
Somewhat unusually, my revision process tends to involve more adding than cutting. I write pretty lean rough drafts—sometimes only 20-30K words—then go back and flesh them out. But I still have scenes that, for one reason or another, don't make it to the second (or third, or fourth...) draft. Often this is because they're too badly written to be salvaged, but sometimes it's just because the story decided to go a different direction in the new draft.
The following scene is one of the latter. It's a quiet scene—a moment shared between my MC, Torien, and a minor character—and I like what it reveals about Torien. But it just didn't fit in anywhere after revisions, so I'm glad to share it separately now.
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He did not, after all, run back across the river.
It was perhaps an hour past noon, the pale winter sun already bending westward to Volenta, the air cool and sharp with the promise of snow. He went up the river road. The damson trees stood bare and black above him, shivering in the wind over the embankments. At Serro’s farm, the bee houses were draped in ox hides against the cold. The mud yard lay empty and silent. He slid from Fihar’s saddle to unbar the barn door. The old, sway-backed hound rose stiffly in the corner and stretched and shook his coat.
“Just you, friend?” Torien said. He took off his glove and held out his hand. The dog came to nose him, tail thumping. “Never met an enemy, did you?”
There were quick footsteps in from the yard. The branded slave came over from the doorway.
“My lord need not trouble himself,” he said, bowing. He reached for Fihar’s head. Then he paused, looking at Fihar in the half-light. He sucked in a breath. He touched Fihar’s shoulder as though to make sure of him. There was the tenderness of familiarity in the touch, and for a moment the slave seemed to forget Torien was there. Then he remembered. He drew back his hand. His face was shuttered.
“If my lord pleases,” he said.
“You know Tassoan horses?”
“A master of mine had such horses,” the slave said, “a very long time ago. Forgive my foolishness, Lord.” He bowed again expressionlessly. “Permit me to make up a hot mash. It will do him good in this cold.”
“He raced the Circus—this master of yours?”
“His horses did, Lord.”
Torien smiled. “An important distinction. Did you drive for him?”
“I had no such skill, Lord.”
“You rode for him.”
The slave didn’t look in Torien’s face. “It was a long time ago,” he said, “and no matter now to my lord. I’ll bring the mash.”
“I felt him favoring the foreleg earlier.” Torien nodded to the right leg. “Have a look at the hoof. An army farrier shod him—all the grace of a blacksmith.”
The slave bent his head. “Yes, Lord.” He leaned against Fihar’s shoulder and ran his hands down the long black shank. He picked up the hoof and held it between his hands, pressing here and there on the sole with his callused brown fingers. He bent the leg at the knee and swung it gently back and forth. “There’s no heat, Lord, and no soreness. He might have carried a stone a little way.”
“Maybe you ought to try him out yourself. I’d like to be sure.”
The slave tensed, the hoof still in his hands. He put the hoof down and straightened very slowly.
“If my lord pleases,” he said, in a low voice.
Torien put the reins in the slave’s hands. “Take him to the crossroad and back. See how he feels when you run him.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Torien crossed the yard and knocked on the house door. Fihar’s hoof beats pounded away down the road. He stood and waited and knocked again. Through the door, he heard the murmur of voices—and then, at length, footsteps coming towards him over tile. There was the rattle of a latch. The door swung inward, groaning. A young slave woman leaned on the door and scowled at him.
“My name is Risto,” Torien said. “I’m looking for Chæla Ceno.”
“The lady is seeing no one.”
“Tell her my name.”
“She knows your name. She’s seeing no one, and certainly not you.” She shut the door in his face, and he heard the click as the bolt shot home.
He stood for a moment there on the doorstep, his hands on the jambs. Then he kicked the threshold, swore once, and went back across the yard to the barn. He sat down on his cloak, his head and shoulders braced against the stall door. The hound came over to him, swaying, and put a cold nose in Torien’s hands.
“You should be glad you’re a dog,” Torien said. He held the hound’s head between his hands, rubbing the hound’s ears. He tilted his head back against the stall door and shut his eyes. He heard the house door open and close across the yard. He lifted his head and opened his eyes and watched Chæla Ceno come carefully across the yard.
She had a wide traveling cloak pulled close around her shoulders. Her hair was done up in a tight, coiled braid. She came into the barn, shutting the door behind her. She stood in the doorway and looked at him. Her cheeks were hollow, her eyes shadowed.
“Did you walk?”
He nudged the hound away and got up, brushing straw from his cloak. “Your fugitive has my horse out on the road.”
“Patros.” She let out a breath through her teeth. “Do you know why they branded him?”
“I’ve got a fair idea.”
“Horse-thieving. He stole one of his master’s horses and ran.”
“Tried to run, it would seem.”
“I was wondering if you’d changed,” she said, “but apparently you’re still an idiot.”
“He’s trying the paces for me. I thought I felt some soreness in one of the hooves.”
“And a terrible liar.”
“I’ve gotten better,” Torien said. “I’ve had more practice since I saw you last.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amanda McCrina has studied in Italy, taught English in Japan, and currently tutors Latin in Atlanta, Georgia. She received her BA in History from the University of West Georgia, and is now pursuing her MA. She writes stories that incorporate her love of history, languages, and world travel. She drinks far too much coffee and dreams of one day having a winning fantasy-hockey season.
GIVEAWAY
One (1) winner will receive a $15 Starbucks gift card or B&N gift card, plus a digital copy of Blood Oath by Amanda McCrina upon its release.
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