I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the HEIRS OF THE
PROMISE by Langdon Franz Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!
About The Book:
Author: Langdon Franz
Pub. Date: November 13, 2023
Publisher: Atmosphere Press
Formats: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 522
Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/HEIRS-OF-THE-PROMISE
For two hundred years, Kilal has dutifully carved intricate runes into
his wrist every forty-eight hours to maintain his Immortality. But now, faced
with the disappearance of his daughter in the Ashen Lands, the presumed death
of his wife, and the imminent threat of his sworn enemies breaching the
Sunlight Domain, Kilal's sanity teeters on the edge.
Haunted by hallucinations and tormented by whispers in the dark, Kilal embarks
on a desperate quest. He must assemble a band of warriors to thwart the
encroaching Ash Fallen invasion, while also confronting the Heirs of the
Promise, a mysterious group that has infiltrated his land and corrupted his
fellow Arbiters.
Amidst the chaos, Kilal's need for the Carving of Immortality intensifies. He
must rise above his crumbling mental state and combat the encroaching madness,
for his daughter's fate hangs in the balance. With time running out, Kilal must
defy his own limitations, uncover the truth, and find the strength to reunite
his family.
In a world where Immortality comes at a bloody cost, Kilal must navigate a
treacherous landscape of loss, enemies, and corruption against a backdrop of
impending doom, where every decision carries weight and the search for
salvation becomes a race against time.
Praise for HEIRS OF THE PROMISE:
“Langdon Franz crafts an epic story that
traverses individual challenge and bigger-picture social and political
transformation in a world under siege.”- Midwest
Book Review
“The
book is full of fast-paced storytelling, compelling characters,
interesting magic and lore, and intense
fighting sequences. Franz should give himself a pat on the back. Heirs of the Promise is one heck of a
start to a fantasy series.”- Independent Book Review
“The
world that Franz creates is immersive and precarious, with every decision
carrying immense weight, as Kilal fights for his sanity and loved ones while
racing against time to unravel the truth. This gripping and adrenaline-fueled
read will keep readers on the edge of their seats.”- BookView Review
Excerpt:
CHAPTER 1
Kilal pressed the knife into his wrist, grasping for
Immortality. A rusted porcelain sink caught the blood dripping from the open
wound as he dragged the sharp blade through his flesh. With a precision gained
by decades of practice, Kilal carved a tight circle, two inches in diameter.
Next came a straight line from the top of the circle to the bottom. Each end
protruded exactly one centimeter past the perimeter.
Every detail had to be perfect. Even a hair’s width of
inaccuracy would render the Carving obsolete.
Cutting a second path from left to right, the two lines
intersected perfectly in the middle of the circle. Kilal paused and wiped sweat
from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Bloody business can’t keep their air conditioning
running or something?
He returned the tip of the knife to his flesh and
carved four more lines, enclosing the circle in a diamond. The pounding bass
reverberating through the walls was barely more than a buzz. His focus seemed
to do a better job than the walls at keeping the music at an acceptable level.
Kilal swapped the carving knife for a smaller blade suited
for minute details. With a steady hand and careful attention to detail, he
etched a tiny rune, no more than an inch long, in each of the four quarters of
the circle. Breath held, Kilal moved the blade through his skin with an
efficiency any Arbiter would envy.
Finished, he ran his wrist beneath water from the cracked and
rusty faucet and examined the raw, open flesh representing the Carving of
Immortality. Satisfied with his work, Kilal walked to the door of the restroom
and jiggled the lock. It was secure. It would take more than what an average
human was capable of to break through the door. He checked again anyway.
The door vibrated to the rhythm of the bass blasting
behind it. Kilal clenched his teeth. His target just had to frequent a bloody
club, didn’t he?
Confident the door would halt any would-be visitors,
Kilal strode into a stall and locked it. Taking a seat on the toilet, he chided
himself for being so sloppy. How had he allowed himself to get stuck in a club
full of humans hostile towards Arbiters with no active Carvings to defend
himself?
“Bloody idiot,” he muttered. “Get yourself together!”
Kilal pulled out a third blade—more a pick than a
blade—and pierced the center of the Carving. Feet pressed against the stall
legs, he locked his knees straight and shoved himself back against the toilet
tank. He took a deep breath and rotated the pick one-hundred and eighty degrees
clockwise.
The Carving flashed white, and the seizure hit him with the
force of a War Plague.
Kilal shook. His body tightened, and his muscles
spasmed. The stall vibrated with him. His legs kept him strained against the
porcelain. The stall door knocked and rattled, the lock’s rhythmic metallic
pinging mimicking the bass still beating outside the bathroom. The convulsions
lasted for what felt like an eternity, but eventually, it was over.
Breathing ragged, eyes half open, Kilal flipped himself over.
His knees hit the floor just as the nausea reigned. Bitter bile spewed from his
mouth and into the toilet, his already empty stomach twisting like a wrung
cloth. Kilal spit, trying futilely to clear the acidic taste from his tongue.
Finished, he flushed the toilet and stumbled out of the
stall, back to the sink. He splashed water over his face.
Hunching to fit his large frame into the view of the mirror,
Kilal glared at the man staring at him. Pale, clammy skin. Dull, sunken eyes.
Oily, dark hair brushing his shoulders. His beard was so thick and unruly, he
couldn’t remember the last time a razor had kissed his cheeks.
“Bloodshed and Oaths, you look like an Ash Fallen,” Kilal
said. “Or a man allergic to soap and water.”
He ran his left wrist under the faucet again, washing the
blood from his skin. When the water ran clear, Kilal stared at the smooth,
unblemished skin—as if a blade had never touched him.
He again pulled out the first knife and pressed it against
his forefinger. Time to test the Carving. Any good Arbiter worth their oath
would. Gritting his teeth, Kilal sliced his finger off with one swift motion.
It dropped and rolled into the sink. The finger didn’t even reach the drain
before white lightning crackled around the severed joint.
It wasn’t enough to endure the sharp, throbbing pain of the
Carving ritual. He also had to endure the excruciating agony that came with the
healing. Instantly regrowing bone, muscles, tendons, skin, and organs was worse
than the injury itself. Nerves searing, fibers and flesh regenerated and
stitched back together.
Simultaneously numb and oversensitive, Kilal flexed the new
finger. The one in the sink disintegrated into a pile of ash.
Immortality was his. For the next forty-eight hours, at
least. Then he’d have the joy of Carving everything all over again.
One down, two more to go.
Kilal pressed the blade into his flesh again to work on the
Carving of Gravitational Control.
When finished, Kilal returned to the stall. He drove
his pick into the center of the Carving and activated it, just as he’d done
before, though he wasn’t able to flip himself around in time to vomit.
Fortunately, there wasn’t much left in his stomach. He only spilled a small
amount of acidic spit onto his shirt. Unfortunately, any amount of bile still
tasted terrible.
Kilal stumbled back to the sink and hovered over it for
a moment. He took a few deep breaths before splashing water onto his face and
into his mouth, trying to clear the vile tang.
Eyes closed, Kilal pictured the Carving of
Gravitational Control as a knob. He ‘grabbed’ it and twisted it to the right,
increasing gravity’s effect on him. When dirty bathroom tiles groaned beneath
his increased weight, he mentally returned the knob to normal.
Carvings one and two completed, he began his third and
final, the Carving of Deific Strength.
The overhead light flickered. Kilal froze. It flickered
again. His chest tightened and his breath caught in his throat. The third time
the light flickered, ash began falling from the ceiling.
Kilal wrenched the knife from his wrist. It slipped
from his fingers and clattered on the floor. He pinched his eyes shut and
pressed the heels of his hands into his cheeks until it hurt.
It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real. You’re not
there anymore. You escaped. It’s just your bloody mind playing tricks on you.
“You abandoned your daughter.”
He opened his eyes and searched for whoever spoke. The
hairs on his neck stood on end when his gaze settled on the reflection in the
mirror.
“Shut up!” he snapped.
His reflection sneered. “You left her there.”
Kilal gripped the edge of the sink, squeezing until it
cracked. He held the reflection’s stare, glare for glare. “I didn’t have a
choice.”
The reflection rolled its eyes. “That’s right. Because
you must save this floating rock you call home.”
Ash built up around him, covering the sink, the floor,
his shoulders.
“Bloodshed and Oaths, you know that’s the truth!” Kilal
cursed. “I swore to protect this world. I can’t abandon it. For anything.”
A nasty smile worked its way onto his reflection’s
face. “What sort of father leaves his daughter in that place?”
Kilal growled and slammed his fist into the mirror,
shattering it into a hundred pieces. Blood dripped from his knuckles for only a
second before white electricity crackled around his fist. The sting
accompanying the healing was barely more than a whisper compared to the
tightness in his chest and burning in his stomach.
“She’s dead,” a cacophony of voices said from the
broken shards. “That’s why you left her there.”
“She’s not dead!” Kilal pressed his eyes shut and
leaned over the sink, leveraging the full weight of his
two-hundred-seventy-pound frame on it.
The porcelain ripped from its enclosure connecting it
to the wall.
“Kill yourself.”
“I’ll go back for her. I’ll go back for her. I’ll go
back for her,” Kilal repeated, rocking in place. He would. He would!
The knob of the bathroom door rattled and twisted.
“Hey! Who’s in there? Open up. Other people need to
piss, too!”
Kilal ignored the would-be visitor, hoping the lock
would continue to do its job. His breathing was all he concentrated on.
The tightness in his chest eased, and the hairs on his
neck lowered. His grip loosened on the half-dangling sink. Kilal opened his
eyes. The ash was gone, and his reflection in the mirror shards scattered
around him no longer taunted him.
“Twice in two days,” he said, rubbing his face.
Kilal waited for the banging on the door to go away
before he retrieved his knife from the floor and returned to his third and
final Carving. Though no sooner had he started, the knob rattled again. He
ignored it. He guided the knife with keen precision.
Someone pounded on the door again, more urgently than before.
“Get the point and move on,” Kilal growled.
He sighed when the door slammed open. It crashed
against the wall, and music, fast and rhythmic, flooded the restroom.
A large bald man strode in. His white t-shirt stuck to his
sweat-soaked skin, and he wore pants he shouldn’t have been able to squeeze
into. The newcomer stopped dead at the sight of Kilal, wrist dripping blood and
knife in hand. Two other men, dressed similarly, stopped in their tracks as
well, one bumping into the bald man. He had a jaw pointy enough to pierce skin,
while the other’s chin was so flabby he barely had a neck. Three sets of eyes
moved as one to Kilal’s wrist.
Baldy sneered. “Didn’t you see the sign, freak?” he
yelled, though his voice barely rose above the beats bumping into the bathroom.
“Your kind isn’t welcome here!”
“Looks like we caught him before he could finish.”
No-Neck grinned.
Baldy scrunched his face and pinched his nose. “What’s
that smell?”
Kilal gritted his teeth. Forgive me for not
consistently caring for my hygiene while I was held captive and tortured in the
Ashen Lands.
The three stepped further into the room, and
Pointy-Chin shut the door. The pulsing thrum of the music dampened. The
vibration gently wavered through the floor, and the heavy beat could still be
counted, but the relative ‘silence’ in comparison was a blessing.
Baldy cracked his knuckles, but it was his voice that
grated on Kilal’s nerves. “We oughta teach him what happens to his kind when
they go places they aren’t wanted.”
“Come on, Drig.” Pointy-Chin grabbed Baldy’s arm. “We
don’t know if he’s one of those Arbiters who can use more than one Carving.
What if he already has one in him?”
“You should really listen to your friend,” Kilal said. He
returned his knife to the sheath on his belt. The last thing he needed was to
accidentally kill the fool.
Baldy smiled. “You can’t hurt us. Your oath will only
let you hurt Arbiters and Ash Fallen. Not innocent folk like us.” He shook his
arm free of Pointy-Chin and stepped forward.
Kilal sighed, shaking his head. “Technically, you’re
right. I can’t hurt you.” Baldy’s smile widened. “That is,” Kilal continued,
“unless I consider you a threat. In which case, I’m free to defend myself. So,
what do you think? Should I consider you a threat?”
Baldy faltered and looked at his friends. They gave quick
shakes of their heads.
Unfortunately, Baldy was made of dumber stock than most.
“Nah.” He turned back to Kilal. “I don’t believe you. Never heard of such a
thing. You’re just trying to save yourself.”
Bloodshed and Oaths. This bloody idiot is going to make
me hurt him.
He unsheathed his carving knife and brandished it at
them. “Get out. Now.”
Baldy looked from the blade to Kilal, then his friends.
He didn’t make any gesture to leave. Kilal growled. He didn’t have time to deal
with fools. He didn’t want to hurt them, but what other choice did he have?
Unless…
He held his open hand up and ran the knife across his
palm, parting flesh. Blood dripped, and the sting barely registered before
white energy crackled around the wound, re-knitting the skin.
The trio paled.
Again, Kilal pointed the blade at Baldy, then at the door.
“Get. Out.” Baldy wheeled on his friends, shoving them aside as he made for the
door—“Wait!” Kilal thundered. His voice bounced off the tiles. The men froze.
“Your shirt, Drig. Give it to me.”
Bloody idiot. He looked down at his own vomit-stained shirt.
What would you do if Drig wasn’t as large as he is? Walk through the club
smelling of death and bile? Good thinking.
Drig didn’t argue. He ripped the fabric over his head and
threw it at Kilal before charging out the door, his friends on his heels.
Kilal caught the sweaty shirt and groaned. The thing stunk as
if it had been dipped in a gallon of cologne. He placed it aside and re-secured
the door before returning to his third and final Carving.
When he’d completed the process, Kilal did his best to clean
himself up at the sink one last time. He pulled on Drig’s shirt and was pleased
when a glance into a mirror shard proved he didn’t look entirely ridiculous in
the small, damp fabric.
Feeling almost like a new man, his three Carvings refueling
him with energy and confidence, Kilal exited the bathroom. He ignored the
flickering light and the crunch of glass beneath his boots. When he stepped
out, he winced. The music assailed him as he headed down the short hall with
chipped and peeling black walls.
The hall deposited Kilal into an enormous square room
three stories high. Over a hundred bodies, by Kilal’s estimation, writhed about
on the floor under the probing lights, dancing to the rhythm of the booming
bass. Or at least, that’s what he assumed they were doing. When had the
flailing of limbs and grinding against each other become ‘dance’?
Kilal cut across the floor and made his way to the
spiraling staircase on the other side of the room. Cologne, perfume, and body
odor mingled into a single collage of stink, making Kilal almost as nauseous as
activating a Carving.
His wide, muscled frame shoved aside anyone not keen
enough to get out of his way on their own, and he quickly freed himself from
the knotted mass of moving flesh. He ascended the steps, taking three at a
time, and strode onto the third-floor balcony overlooking the club. The clock
on a nearby wall flashed bright red numbers. 11:21 p.m.
Just in time. His target supposedly frequented the
place every evening at 11:30 p.m. sharp.
Kilal moved to a table at the edge of the balcony. He
took a seat and waited.
A young woman approached him, carrying a notebook and a
smile. She knelt beside him and placed a hand on his thigh, a brow raised.
“What can I get for you, handsome?”
The girl either had extremely poor taste in men or was
looking for a good tip. Either way, a hundred years ago, Kilal would’ve
reciprocated the flirtatious attitude. Now?
He gently removed her hand from his leg, never taking his
gaze from the dance floor beneath them. “Water.”
She didn’t answer or bother to write his order down.
She just stood, turned on her heels, and stormed away. Kilal didn’t expect to
receive his water any time soon.
He scooted his chair up against the guardrail and rested his
arms on it as he scanned the mass of bodies below. The club’s name flashed in
bright neon colors on the wall across from him.
Forget Everything.
Pressure spiked behind his eyes. The room seemed to
warp, the walls bending, flexing outward. What immense power! Frantically,
Kilal looked for the source. He found him, stepping through the revolving glass
doors and into the club.
Jayden. His target.
Only a few times in Kilal’s two hundred years of life
had he felt power like that, and it confirmed his decision to hunt Jayden down.
Now, he only had to convince the man to help him save the world.
Jayden, chest puffed out, sauntered from the entrance
to the dance floor, smiling and pointing at people like he owned the place. He
wore a green V-neck t-shirt; the cutout dipping nearly beneath his flat,
hairless chest, and his yellow pants were so tight, Kilal wasn’t sure if his
legs hadn’t been painted instead. Although, the six inches or so of skin
showing above ankle-high white socks confirmed the man was, indeed, wearing
pants. Black leather shoes rounded out his abysmal clothing decisions.
For such a provocative outfit, Kilal would’ve assumed
Jayden had a reason to wear them, but he didn’t look like he’d done an honest
day’s work in his life. The only thing he had going for him was a neatly
trimmed haircut over bushy brown eyebrows.
The music stopped, and everything went quiet, but the
dancing continued. In fact, the bass still vibrated through the railing and
floor. What was going—
Kilal shot to his feet, kicking the chair behind him,
and turned about, hands up before him. Three individuals sat at his table.
Arbiters. And one of them had created a sound pocket around them. Normally, he
would’ve sensed the use of a Carving, but the sensation must have been drowned
by the immense power emanating from Jayden.
Kilal eyed the strangers. The one sitting nearest was
tall and lean, yet solid with muscle. He sported a black tank top with gray
tattoos wrapped around his arms. Carving tattoos! Kilal didn’t know whether he
should slap him for such foolishness or fear him. If he displayed his knowledge
for all to see, surely the man was a threat to be respected, though the
lopsided and arrogant grin stuck to his face said otherwise. Probably an
Enlightened Arbiter, and a Fighter, at that. Kilal dismissed him without another
thought.
The second person, sitting across from Tattoos, was a
woman with short blonde hair. Nothing stood out about her. She hunched forward,
shoulders folded in, and kept her arms beneath the table. She was trying to
display a sheepish personality, which Kilal assumed worked against most people.
He almost fell for it until he met her gaze.
He held her gaze just long enough to catch it before
she flicked it away. An edge was behind them, a hardness only the most
battle-experienced Arbiters obtained. Why had she chosen to partner up with a
bloody idiot like Tattoos?
She was the one who’d thrown up the sound bubble.
Buzzing in his ears indicated it was a Carving from the Mind branch. And the
taste of copper identified the use of a second Carving, one from the Physical
branch. A High Arbiter, and more specifically, a Bruiser. Was she prepared for
a physical altercation?
Of course, he could’ve been completely wrong about his
estimation of the two. The problem with sensing Carvings was how difficult it
was to determine who was using them. For all Kilal really knew, he could have
switched the two Arbiter’s classifications. It was also possible they were both
Enlightened instead, each using only one Carving. But Kilal had learned to
trust his instincts. After two hundred years of sensing, he found he was
usually right with his predictions.
The third and final stranger held Kilal’s attention the
longest. He wore a long black coat buttoned up to the neck. Matching leather
gloves kept his hands concealed. Most ridiculous of all were the dark
sunglasses concealing what Kilal knew lay behind them: eyes with veins as stark
as the man’s skin.
Kilal picked up the chair he’d kicked over. He returned
it to the table and sat, carefully putting a few feet between himself and
Tattoos. The power he sensed from each of them boosted his confidence. As long
as he didn’t allow Sunglasses to touch him, he’d walk away from the encounter
unscathed. Regardless, an Arbiter always treated another with a healthy dose of
respect and fear until they knew what Carvings were in play.
Kilal was the first to breach the silence. He leaned
back and crossed his arms. “An Enlightened Arbiter, a High Arbiter, and an
Inflictor entered a club. Every table within was theirs to choose from. Which
one did they pick?”
They stiffened.
Tattoos sucked at something stuck between his teeth. “I
don’t know. Which one?”
Kilal narrowed his eyes. “The wrong one.”
The lady leaned forward. She placed her arms on the
table and straightened her spine. Good. She wasn’t trying to hide who she was
anymore. “From where I’m sitting, I think we chose the right one. Few Primes
remain unaffiliated with the Heirs of the Promise.”
Who? The title meant nothing to him.
“What do you want?” Kilal asked.
“To talk. I’m Issa. This is Iathu.” She nodded toward
the Inflictor, who gave Kilal a small tilt of his head. “And he’s—”
“None of your business,” Tattoos said, picking at a
dark object between two teeth with his tongue. “What are you doing introducing
us like we’re all pals?” He leaned back against his chair, propping it up on
its rear legs.
Issa’s eyes hardened. “That’s Caz.”
Kilal winced at Caz’s repulsive lip-smacking. “You
gonna ask him to dance next?”
“Are you always this disrespectful to ladies?” Kilal
asked.
Caz sneered and leaned forward. His chair slammed onto
the floor, and he brought his face so close, the air reeked of stale smoke from
his breath. “Ah, I’m sorry. Did I offend you?”
Kilal raised a brow. “Are you really bringing yourself
this close to an Arbiter you don’t know and whose Carvings you aren’t aware
of?”
Caz shrugged. “I ain’t worried.”
Kilal gave him a toothy smile. “You should be.”
Whatever Caz saw in his expression made him pause the
sucking of his teeth. He leaned back again and crossed his arms. “Ain’t here to
wipe the floor with you, anyway.”
“One moment.” Kilal pushed himself away from the table.
He stood and walked to the railing, scanning the dance
floor. His head swiveled like a man in charge, but his gaze darted around
frantically. The search didn’t last long.
A large circle of empty floor had formed around Jayden.
The man flailed about, moving from girl to girl to recruit them as his dance
partner. After so many rejections, the guy should have gotten the point, but
Jayden wouldn’t be dismayed.
Kilal strode back to the table. Caz was rebuking Issa.
“Can’t believe you’re gonna let him talk to us like that.”
Issa ignored him.
“Like I asked before,” Kilal said, “what do you want?”
Iathu didn’t move. His sunglasses remained firmly
planted on Kilal and his right hand on the table. Kilal didn’t let that hand
out of his sight.
“We’re representatives of the Heirs of the Promise,”
Issa said.
Kilal shrugged. “That supposed to mean something to
me?”
Caz guffawed.
Issa’s eyes widened. “You don’t know?” Kilal shook his
head. “Bloodshed and Oaths, man! Where have you been?”
Kilal raised a brow. “I’ve been…busy. Have you not
heard of me?”
Issa squinted and studied his face. Finally, she
elbowed Iathu. “You know him?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. Caz slapped a knee
and spit on the floor. “I knew I recognized you! I saw you earlier this week.
You were the guy living in the alley between Westside Boulevard and East
Street, right? Nice box house you got yourself.”
Interesting. It had been a long time since he’d been
around Arbiters who didn’t know who he was. Should he be disappointed or
relieved? Granted, he’d been missing for the last decade.
Kilal drummed his fingers on the table.
Issa, head cocked, stared at him. “The Heirs of the
Promise is an organization operated by Arbiters. We run this city. All new
Arbiters to Silent Haven must register themselves, their classification, and
the Carvings they use.”
Kilal clenched his jaw so hard his grinding teeth could
have competed with the throbbing beat outside the bubble. His fingers stilled.
Iathu inched his hand slowly across the table. Caz smiled and
cracked his knuckles.
Kilal pointed at the Inflictor. “If you don’t put that
hand under the table, I’ll rip it off before you can even think to cancel my
Carvings.” Iathu’s lip curled up, showing white teeth. Kilal smirked. “There it
is. Not as emotionless as you want to pretend. Now, put your hand away.”
Iathu didn’t budge. Kilal prepared his Carvings,
picturing them as knobs in his mind, ready to ‘turn’ them and increase his
strength and gravity at a moment’s notice. Issa nudged her partner. They shared
a look, and whatever passed between them encouraged Iathu to finally put his
arm beneath the table. The tension eased.
“You two are joking, right?” Caz asked. He gestured at
Kilal. “He threatened us! And you’re just going to let him get away with that?”
He turned to Issa and sneered. “I guess that’s what happens when a woman is in
charge.”
Issa flinched but didn’t say anything.
Kilal, however, snapped his fingers in Caz’s face. He’d
had enough of the insufferable, big-mouthed Arbiter. “Come here.” He beckoned
with a finger as if calling a dog. Caz broke into a wide grin and leaned in.
When their faces were nearly touching, and Kilal had the pleasure of enjoying
his foul, smoky breath again, he said, “You should really treat women better.”
A sleazy smile crept its way onto Caz’s face. “I do. When
they know their place.”
“And what place is that?”
“As pretty little trophies meant to be conqu—”
Kilal slapped him. Caz’s head ricocheted off the table
edge with a sickening crunch. He crashed to the floor, unconscious. With his
foot, Kilal shoved him aside.
“Bloodshed and Oaths, thank you,” Issa said.
He stood and repositioned his chair, using the motion
to mask looking for Jayden. When he spotted him, Kilal sat down again. He
propped his elbows on the table and folded his hands beneath his chin. “Your
organization is a mockery to all we stand for. Arbiters are a force of good. We
were created to defend the Sunlight Domain and its people from the Ash Fallen.
Not band together and lord over those we protect.”
“Those days are long behind us. Those values are
archaic. They may have worked five hundred years ago, but if you haven’t
noticed, there aren’t many of us left. We can’t be the lone wolves we used to
be. Things need to change.”
Kilal smashed a fist on the table. “What I noticed is
an army of Ash Fallen on the other side of the Veil, preparing to sweep through
our world again!”
“On the other side of—” Issa frowned. “Where did you
say you’ve been again?”
Kilal cursed himself. He didn’t want anyone to know
what had happened to him, let alone a corrupt group of Arbiters.
“You think the Heirs are the first to do this?” he
said, trying to direct the conversation away from his slip-up. “Rally Arbiters
together, claiming unity, peace, and a better future? You’re all bloody fools!
The ones in charge are gathering all the knowledge of Carvings you’ve each
earned, and when they have enough, they’ll turn on you, using your own powers
against you.”
Issa sat back and placed her hands under the table. The
taste of copper flooded his mouth—she was activating her Physical Carving!
“Three cities,” Issa said. “Silent Haven. New Cita.
Vitrol. That’s all that’s left of humanity. We can’t keep going on like this.
It’s time for something new. Join us. It’s the only option.”
“Where are the Keepers of the Oath? Why have they
allowed the Heirs to move into the city?” Issa and Iathu shared another glance.
What did they know? Kilal growled, “Where are the Keepers?”
“Will you return with us and register yourself, your
status, and your Carvings?”
Kilal leaned in slowly. “I would welcome the embrace of
a Pestilence Plague before I gave into your demands.”
Issa closed her eyes and slumped her head. After taking
a deep breath, she stood, and Iathu followed. “You have twenty-four hours to
leave the city. This time tomorrow, if you haven’t left, you will be
black-marked. The first Arbiter to kill you will be handsomely rewarded.”
Kilal shot to his feet and shoved the table aside. His
hands shook, and the veins in his neck strained against his skin. “You threaten
me with my own people? Tell your masters this: their time is short. They should
use what remains of it to flee somewhere I won’t find them. Elsewise, I won’t
be trapped in this city with them—they’ll be trapped in this city with me.”
To her credit, Issa didn’t even flinch. She just gave a
sad shake of her head and walked to the unconscious Caz. With little effort,
she hauled him up and threw him over her shoulder. She paused before leaving
and glanced at Kilal. “If you change your mind, come to our headquarters. Head
to the center of the city and look for…Well, you won’t miss it.”
Issa headed for the back door of the club, Iathu
trailing behind her.
Despite their absence, thankfully, the noise-dampening
bubble remained intact for Kilal to brood in. Fingers and glares were thrown
his way, but he ignored them and stepped over to the balcony again, chewing on
his lower lip.
I could’ve handled that better. What was I thinking? An
empty threat, and for what? If only an army of Ash Fallen weren’t looming on
the other side of the Veil. He sighed. One problem at a time.
Everything had changed while he was gone. The Heirs of
the Promise. The Keepers. What had that look between Issa and Iathu meant when
he mentioned the Keepers?
If anything happened to them, I’ll—
Jayden!
Kilal whipped his head around, but the poorly dressed
man was nowhere to be seen. Jayden was gone.
Excerpt originally posted on Langdon’s blog
About Langdon Franz:
Langdon
Franz lives in Raleigh, North Carolina with his wife, two teenage daughters,
two dogs and two cats. In 2022, he finished his Masters in Creative Writing and
has been hard at work creating his own book series ever since. When he isn’t
writing, he is designing board games with his wife or playing one. Langdon has
a passion for all things fantasy as well as creating fantastical worlds others
can enjoy.
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Giveaway Details:
1 winner
will receive a finished copy of HEIRS OF THE PROMISE, US Only.
Ends January 31st, midnight EST.
a Rafflecopter giveawayTour Schedule:
Week One:
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1/15/2024 |
IG Post |
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1/16/2024 |
Excerpt |
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1/17/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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1/18/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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1/19/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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1/20/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
Week Two:
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1/21/2024 |
IG Review |
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1/22/2024 |
Review |
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1/23/2024 |
IG Review |
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1/24/2024 |
Review |
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1/25/2024 |
IG Review |
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1/26/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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1/27/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
Week Three:
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1/28/2024 |
IG Review/LFL Drop Pic/TikTok Post |
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1/29/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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