The Maqq-Kracken Kings
Book 1
by
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Black Quarrel.
The King read the correspondence, lighting a sulfur stick on the copper heal of his riding boot, catching the papyrus afire, and flung the burning letter in the Knight's face. The 'Knight'; just a fresh-trimmed teen, newly dubbed, began to smirk getting a mental picture in his mind of the King being ridden down by his Host's superior numbers. Raibeart in a flash, whipped his rifle out from under his blanket roll, across the rues thick neck, pointing the barrel in the young mans face. Kain the Mighty shifted, he knew what was coming if this proud bastard didn't. The smirk melted away, and Raibeart began to smile his own wide hateful beam.
"Mistakes like these, boy, are only made once", He said frowning. The shock among Herrohvell's Knight's to see an actual shot rod unsheathed under flags of peace vanished into the dregs of unwritten time, when the report of Raibearts's rifle resounded, and blood gushed forth like a fountain from where the Knight's face and head had been. Like vomit, part of the helmet flew up into the air, with bone and brain skipping across the heather.
General Denas blew-away the Barbute and the head inside it, from the other Knight, in revenge for his Scouts betrayal. The King raised his weapon again.
"Save your ammo M'Lord", Denas said, as he chambered once again, and he shot the two Squire escorts in the back as they fled before the echo from the first blast had drifted off into the further hillocks of the plains.
General Denas had given orders to form the Knights of the Red Leopards and their Squires of Yudic into a defensive Sjhan-Ziscan -wagon circle.
The King raised himself in the stirrups, locked and loaded another 0.72 caliber round, aimed his weapon towards Herrohvell's Pavilion, and fired. His animal shifted under this odd forward weight. The shot flew through the crowd, being over eight-hundred long paces on a windy day, missing the target, but killing a Eastern Squire, and wounding the arm of one of Raibearts' own Central Plains of Brookside, a Knight and Traitor, one Yhim-Garr of the Clan Folkx.
As the King reloaded, but before he could join his circle of shields, the false Mangakpall had drawn near. Letting loose a hail of Mangakian arrows engulfing the forward van. Raibeart and his Squires, slow to raise shields slumped lifeless over the shoulders of their dying steeds, black shafts form the Mangak nether regions protruding from gasping chests and throats pulsing out blood like geysers. Raibeart took one straight through the heart, another shaft poked out from under his reddened coif, another blotch of what had been his right eye. His shooting eye. As his body and rifle slammed into the heather the Herrohvellians surged with a blood curdling war cry. The rues paws pounded on the green heather freshly mowed in the seasons last cut. The hills filled with man and animal, and the sound of shifting tackle, and shouting men, merged with the clear sky. And the mountains of Geath came alive. Our side only had time to send out a few volleys and not much damaged received.]
[ Layr survived the first volley, quarrels pinning his surcoat to his maille. The General called for pavises, and at three blasts of the trumpet, they were hustled forward. The straight leg Infantry started the measured run to hold the flanks, and the archers moved to the van, and the round shields of the Red Leopards, rushed to the Knights nearest the King. He called for the wagons in the postern to "castle" and the war wagons the flank nearest the largest contingent of Eastern Knight to slow the charge. Layr, moved to the Kings side, and rounded him in spears. He knelt down next to Raibeart, slipped on his blood soaking his grieves and gambasson in the Kings carnage. Blood that glistened on the short heather grass, and soaked the ground, ...and felt for the blood pulse in his neck. The blood was still oozing, but his heart beat not. The King, the Maqq'Kracken King, ...Me'laun'Dra's Husband, - Waihane-Harr and Lok's father was dead. Probably before he hit the ground. He didn't have time for sorrow or regret. Layr whipped his bandoleer off his own rues neck, and settled down, behind the Kings dead rue, and
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About the Book
Meet the Hero, Lok The Panther, born to Raibeart "The Boar" Poul De Tyre VIth and his first and only love, Queen Me'laun'Dra. At the tender age of two, Lok and his mother were forced to flee from the Capital, Yudic, after the betrayal and murder of Lok's Father, and the failure of his older brother to secure the throne by right-of-arms. See Lok, between the ages three and fourteen, as h lived in the southern Stockade, home of the original bloodline of the Lok-Hartian Maqq'Krackens. In secret, among this almost idealistic society, the Prince underwent extensive tutorage, weapons training, tactics, survival techniques, phonics', pyrotechnics, and engaged in diverse affairs of State--yet rejected the old ways of the Maqq'Kracken KaHakkian religion. In his fourteenth year, a howling band of Mangakian Mangakpall, led by the renowned Zakxmare destroys the Southern Stockade. All Maqq'Kracken men over the age of eighteen, the soldiers, and their married women are vanquished; Lok, as well, meeting his doom by his own frivolity. However, through seemingly occultist intervention of one, Wizard of Maana, Lok, it is falsely believed, is raised from the dead. As an illogical youth, now in a grown man's body, a body super-enhanced by the Wizard's magic, Lok finds himself making irrational, immature, spiritually debilitating decisions. Follow Lok in his many adventures, through his middle to late teens, working first as a slave, later a trusted Imperial Confidant in fabled Wouachou. Through a friendship with one of the Emperor's princes, and success as a Gladiatorial Combatant, Lok moves into a place of military significance.
About the Author
Over the years, Robert P. Shyan-Norwalt has been a itinerant Evangelist, Infanty Airborne Soldier, demolitions construction worker, Corrections Officer, OTR semi tractor trailor driver, and for over 12 years, professional blacksmith, bladesmith, -swordsmith. Robert has written an online, essential blacksmithing, damascus steel making, and pattern welding tutorial that has received high acclaim. This book, his first work of fiction, reflects his life-long experiences and learnings. He has been a student of history, especially Old and New Testament, edged weapons, and military strategy, for over 30 years. A former long-term member of various Middle Ages historical reenactment societies, and a self-taught amateur scholar, he has extensive knowledge of different classical through post-Middle Ages European histories and cultures. He was a decorated soldier in the US Army for over 14 years. His extensive military experiences, numerous military occupational skills, stealth maneuvers, and engagements provide realism, accuracy, and passion to the battle scenes, logistical activities, and individual combat episodes in this heroic fantasy. His former work as a Evangelistic clergyman and seminary student provide the skills to blend words and new belief systems into a coherent and creative whole. His work as a professional artisan blacksmith, swordsmith, and artist allow him to vividly portray weapons and armor, to provide the artwork for this novel. He has operated his full time blacksmith/swordsmith business out of his
home-based workshop since 1999, has several apprentices, and has done
numerous educational demonstrations in different venues, including
Earlham College. Robert presently lives in rural Indiana with his wife, dog, and two Belgian horses. He has three adult children and five grandchildren.