City of Bones: Order of Ghosts Saga Book 2

Once he was a thief, now a slave bent on revenge. 

Nothing is at it seems. Nothing happens the way he thought it would. Felix the Ghost is now the Grand Master of the Order of Ghosts. He is ordered to the City of Bones, to hunt down lost artifacts from the Chaos Times while being hunted by the Twins of Death. 

In order to gain the freedom he hungers for, Felix must complete this mission for his God. To go home and end the wrath of the vicious Duke who continues to enslave others, there is no such thing as failure. However, with the Twins of Death it leaves the question of—who is the hunter or the hunted? And can Felix survive this time? 

If you thirst for painful magic, gruelling fights, and revenge, then you will love this action-packed story written by Nathan Pedde. 

Grab a copy of City of Bones today.

Chapter One Preview

CHAPTER ONE

Thempta floated in nothingness. She looked to her left and to her right. Yet, she saw nothing but blackness. She tried to move and to swim through the vacuum. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t move. Thempta looked down, and she couldn’t see her arms. Worse yet, she couldn’t feel them.

Is this what it is like to be dead? Thempta thought. I was hoping the afterlife was going to be different than this.

She didn’t know how long she floated in the nothingness, running the thoughts of the past few weeks through her head. Her grandmother and family would all be dead. Either by the Talabaers or by High-Prince Maliok due to her own failure. It was the price of the contract that her grandmother made with Maliok. She was to serve him and be under his command. In exchange, she would get protection from their enemies.

It wasn’t until later did they find out the bastard wasn’t good on his word. However, it was too late. He had some psychopathic Malicros Mages working for him, which meant they could never betray him.

In the distance, a single white dot appeared. She looked at the growing white light and pondered what it was. It brought her attention back to her, bodiless, floating self. It grew more extensive as it filled her field of vision.

The pure white pushed back the endless nothingness she floated in, a stark contrast to the darkness which filled her vision a moment before.

Was it a moment? How long has it been? A minute? A year? If I’m dead, does it matter?

The black nothingness was pushed back and turned into a single dot that disappeared into the distance.

“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself,” a voice boomed behind her.

Thempta turned around, and a giant man stood upside down in front of her. His head was at her height, and his feet stretched out into the distance. He was taller than she could tell.

A God, Thempta thought. What do I do? Prostrate? Bow? Stand straight?

She attempted to prostrate herself but found she couldn’t move.

“Calm down,” the God said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You are—”

“I’m a God, but not the one you think I am,” the God said. “You can call me Mr. Magician. A future friend of yours does.”

“Mr. Magician. Oh, Lord God,” Thempta said. “Am I dead?”

“No,” Mr. Magician said. “But you’re close to it.”

“Then what is this place?” Thempta said.

“You’re full of questions.”

“Apologies. Oh, Lord—”

“Shut it and listen.”

Thempta found she had lost the ability to speak.

“The darkness you saw was the corruption from the Evil One,” Mr. Magician said, “I’ve stolen you from him, and you’re now my servant. I’ve also taken your corrupted Rune away from you.”

She tried to speak, but still nothing came out.

“Right.” Mr. Magician waved his hand.

“Your servant?” Thempta said.

“Yes,” Mr. Magician said. “You do have free choice, but if you aren’t my servant, then you are his. Honestly, the term stealing is stretching it. He discarded you like an old shirt.”

Thempta took a deep breath as she controlled her thoughts. Do I have a choice?

“No,” Mr. Magician said.

“What am I?” Thempta asked.

“You’re no longer a mage of Malicros,” Mr. Magician said.

“Am I a Talabaer?”

“No.”

Thempta was silent. If I am not a Malicros or a Talabaer, then what am I?

“You are a new thing,” Mr. Magician said.

“You can read my mind?”

“I’m a God.”

“What do you command of me?” Thempta asked.

Am image appeared in front of her, it was of the bastard Talabaer, the Ghost. The one who had defeated her not a moment before. Thempta involuntarily hissed at the image. If she had arms, she would be trying to strangle him.

“Good thing this is the space of time between two heartbeats,” Mr. Magician said. “Cause you’re going to stay here until you change your mind. The reasoning is that he’s now your boss, not that he knows it. Yet.”

“Boss? Wait. Time between two heartbeats?”

“Don’t worry,” Mr. Magician said. “You’ll remember every moment of this but won’t be able to speak a word about it to anyone.”

Thempta looked down, away from the image, but the image moved with her. It was like it was glued to her eyesight.

“Question for you,” Mr. Magician asked. “How long is it going to take to change your mind?”

#

Palma, the ex Talabaer, sat in the shade of a hillside, tired and hurt. She had no idea how Felix, the imbecile, had so much power. Even after she had managed to blind him. A stream of black smoke drifted into the sky above her.

Like all Talabaers and Malicros Mages, she was bald. Her olive-colored scalp was sunburnt and red. Her tattered, once white, robes lay by her feet. She wore nothing but a loincloth. Her tattoos glowed slightly in the shade.

She held a semi-clean shirt, which would be sleeveless and loose-fitting. She should be able to fit her arms inside her blouse to activate her runes.

Palma the Iron-Maiden. Or will the records call me as Palma the Traitor, Palma thought. If there’s anyone able to write it down.

She had betrayed her master, High-Prince Muphaeso. A few years before, she had been approached by her new master, High-Prince Maliok. She was offered money, power, and freedom if she served him for a year. She still had six years of servitude with Muphaeso.

For years she had been one of Muphaeso’s most-trusted Lieutenants. She was second only to him in the terms of Rank and Power. However, for all the years that she put in, she was never allowed to know the High-Prince’s mind and was kept at arm’s length.

Then the fool Felix came in and changed everything. She was still furious. She had been demoted to number three. Felix was given exclusive training with the High-Prince, and she was denied the same privilege. She was mad she wasn’t allowed into the inner circle.

Palma had betrayed her High-Prince and had let the Malicros Mages into the underground tunnels. Felix was blinded, but the fool was still able to fight. She had no idea how, but she had to admit that it was amazing to watch. If she wasn’t on the receiving end.

Around her were a dozen Mages of Malicros, some soldiers of Maliok, and her fellow Talabaer traitors. Not all could use magic, but of those who could, none of them were as powerful as she was.

There was a commotion from the top of a hill out of sight. A soldier, who wore Maliok’s garb and armor, slid down the path.

“Mistress Palma. Is this all who are left?” the woman asked.

“What does it look like?” Palma asked.

Palma didn’t let her answer the question. “Will you listen to me now?”

The woman opened her mouth to reply but was pushed aside by a bald Malicros. He stood shorter than the soldier, but he looked to be no older than fifteen. The kid was as tall as Palma and the muscles on his arms rippled. The boy was of the second rank.

“Why the hell should I listen to a Talabaer whore like you?” the kid yelled.

Before the boy could react, Palma activated her water rune.

“Fysalida-nerou,” Palma said, casting a spell.

A bucket’s worth of water flew at him and the fifteen-year-old was engulfed in the water bubble, which covered him from head to toe. Palma saw him thrash and kick in the water as he attempted to free himself.

“I’m now in charge,” Palma yelled. “You lot will listen to me. Do you agree?”

The soldier and mages nodded.

“Good,” Palma said before she looked at the boy in the bubble of water. “Puddles, will you listen to me, or shall I let you drown?”

The boy nodded.

“Are you sure?” Palma asked, “Because I can kill you by more violent means.”

The boy nodded with his hands clasped together in a prayer motion.

Palma deactivated the rune. The water poured from the boy to the ground and ran down the dry desert. Puddles, the boy, gasped for breath.

“Congratulations,” Palma said. “You get to live for another day.”

“Palma,” a familiar voice said from the side of the hill.

Palma turned and glanced at the person who spoke. Arlon stood by a large rock, in a dirty, ripped Talabaer robe.

Arlon had been the first recruit of Palma’s and the first to express interest in jumping ship. He was the one Talabaer who was trained to inscribe tattoos. As such, he knew the powers of each Talabaer.

“Do you have any word about what’s happening in the village?” Palma asked.

“The spies report they’re rebuilding the village,” Arlon replied.

“And the Fort?”

“It’s a crater,” Arlon said. “Whatever Felix did won’t be repaired anytime soon. If at all.”

Palma turned to the female Maliok soldier.

“You,” Palma said. “What’s your name?”

“Veroni,” she replied.

“Did you get a good look at the Fort?”

“No, Mistress,” Veroni said. “We’re too far away, and a hill blocks the view.”

“Just that cloud of black smoke,” Palma said. “Great.”

Palma looked at the soldiers and Mages who stood with her. The group looked beat up. The fight had been a close thing. Yet, they had lost, and they knew it. All of them had lost brothers and friends in the battle.

“Listen,” Palma said. “I know we’re hurting. It was supposed to be an easy fight, but it didn’t turn out that way. If you want to get revenge and kill those who killed your friends— our friends, to hold your heads high. Especially when we see High-Prince Maliok next, then you need to follow me. Cause I have a plan. Who’s with me?”

The soldiers nodded with agreement, even Puddles.

#

Primus Laelius Capito leaned against the mast of the quinquereme Imperial Legacy. The five rows of oars churned the water and pushed it rapidly through the water. The highly trained sailors of the Imperial Navy knew their job and knew it well.

He looked across the bay at the glittering city of Daedius, Ta’arqa capital city. The white limestone walls glowed in the sunlight, especially in the setting sun. It acted as a beacon to all ships passing by. They weren’t sailing to the city today but were sailing away from it.

Laelius wore his light tunic and pants which were especially well suited for time out of combat and at the sea. It was the uniform of an off-duty legionnaire. The shoulders of his tunic were marked with an eagle, a sign of his high rank. It separated him from the rank and file of his men.

The trip from Aurre had been long and stressful. The salt air had wreaked havoc on the state of his bronze armor. Within a week, it had turned a shade of green in places. Laelius had spent all his available free time to pick the corrosion from the nooks and crannies applying oil to protect the armor. He had to be the example for the rest of his men.

Below decks were two hundred legionnaires under his command, First Century. Double the strength of the standard hundred men unit of his cohort.

“Primus,” Ambassador Maximus Kaesear said, stepping on deck behind Laelius.

The ambassador was a larger man with broad shoulders built up from a lifetime leading his legions. However, a gut revealed he had spent the last half-decade avoiding anything physical. He wore a similar tunic and pants as Laelius did but wore a purple sash across his shoulder to signify his birth rank as a member of the royal family.

Kaesear carried two glasses of beer. As the ambassador approached, he handed Laelius a cup, slamming it into his chest.

“Drink,” Kaesear said. “You need to smile more. It’ll help.”

“Sir, may I ask a question?” Laelius asked.

“Of course. I’m always open to questions,” Kaesear replied.

“With the High-King—”

“He’s not the High-King,” Kaesear said. “Not yet, at least. He needs to hold onto the crown.”

“With him rejecting our offer,” Laelius said, “is it wise to go to his brother?”

“The question is not whether it is wise to go to his brother,” Kaesear said, “but is it wise not to. We need support and trade from the Ta’arqians. We need to keep their exotic goods flowing to Aurre. The coming civil war will be exactly what we need to do just that.”

Laelius realized he asked a question a mile higher than his rank allowed. He was glad he asked it in private over a cup of beer.

“Yes, sir,” Laelius said. “Forget that I said anything.”

Kaesear waved away Laelius’s comment, “There’s nothing to apologize about. You’re my right hand. You, dear boy, are going places. You have to stick with me.”

“Yes, sir,” Laelius said, a bead of sweat dripped from his forehead.

“Join me for an early supper,” Kaesear said, “and we can go over the plan. I have much to tell you.”

Felix the Fallen: Order of Ghosts Saga Book 1

When the mad Duke raged, Felix’s world changed.

Felix the Swift is the best thief in the city and the pimple on the Duke’s rear end. When his last, grandest job goes wrong, it costs him a steep price – his entire family, including himself are sold into slavery to pay for his crimes.

Felix is dragged across the globe, from slave owner to owner, and thrown into a world of magic. He must face High-Princes, assassins, traitorous brothers, Gods, and the scorching heat of the desert. With more at stake than Felix is aware of, he must overcome obstacles laid against him; to find a way back to his homeland and free his family.

If you thirst for painful magic, grueling fights, and revenge, then you will love this action-packed story written by Nathan Pedde.

Grab a copy of Felix the Fallen today and see the wonder.

Chapter One Preview

Dawn sluggishly broke over the ancient city of Draada. Gathered around the eastern gate were citizens, workers, tradesmen, and merchants. They all waited for the gates to open for the sole purpose of leaving the city. Some headed to the outer city, while others were headed father away in the Empire of Aurre.
The Aurrians weren’t waiting for the same reason as Felix the Swift. He stood at the gate of the city waiting for it open with the morning sun. Being awake this early wasn’t a typical activity for someone who made a living prowling rooftops for easy pulls.
Felix was not only a thief, but he considered himself an exceptional thief for a sixteen-year-old. Among the thieves of Draada, who Felix called his competition, sixteen was considered an old veteran. Most thieves in the city started as children, some would say sixteen was passed prime. Most thieves either ended up as slaves or in the Legions as punishment for their crimes.
Felix was tall and skinny, weighing only eight stones. He was dressed in the dirty, rough sewn clothes of the working class. Felix’s preference was to dress in dark trousers and long tunics, as it was easier to work in the shadows of the night.
The gate was rock-hard oak with a bronze alloy sheathing, which protected the wood from fire. The gatehouse and city walls were hundreds of years old with the walls built at a time of the last Aurrian civil war. The walls were as thick as three men lying in a line and as tall as seven men standing on each other’s shoulders — withstanding attacks from unwelcome people.
A couple guards looking bored on either side of the gate. They were dressed in bronze armor with the tabard of Draada over top. They held spears and carried sizable curved tower shields on their backs. All of it was in disrepair.
Felix stood to the side and studied the crowd. It was something he did without any thought. He could tell which merchant or tradesman was armed or if they had anything that could be stolen. Packs and packages were strapped to backs of slaves or piled high onto handcarts.
A figure in a dark corner caught his eye. The young woman wore a long dark cloak with a hood and watched the crowd like Felix. At least Felix guessed she was a woman. Felix could make out the shape of her hips and breasts underneath the cloak.
Felix wasn’t even sure why his eyes caught the woman. There were bound to be more important things to study. A light flashed in the corner, and then the woman was gone. Felix scanned the crowd and couldn’t find her.
Across the street Effie, his apprentice, weaved through the crowd. He watched her pick a pocket of a plump merchant as she sauntered her way across the road.
Effie was fourteen years old. She stood up to his chest, and Felix was sure he could pick her up one-handed to throw her across the street without any real effort on his part.
Not that he had ever tried. She always kept knives on her. He has seen the result of any male encounter with them, they were usually left behind in a gutter, in a pool of their own blood.
“You’re up early,” Effie said.
“You’re up late,” Felix replied. “Busy night?”
“Not bad. I’m waiting for a couple contacts to get in on a nice pull. You?”
“I’m working on a big one,” Felix replied. “I’ll need you in on this.”
“What’s the cut?” Effie said. “I want a fair share.”
“Eighty-twenty is not fair?”
“I’m not twelve anymore.”
Felix looked down at Effie, who had her hands on her hips. “Fine. Sixty-forty. Your part’s to be a distraction. Forty’s good, considering the pull.”
Effie groaned. “Not the Duke. Anything but the duke.”
“I’ll tell you later. Now, why are you up so late?”
“I’ve got some information that may interest you.”
“Please tell.”
Effie looked at Felix and then the gate. “Wait. Your brother’s coming to town, right?”
“That’s what his letter said, according to father.”
“That complicates things and confirms it too,” Effie said. “The Duke has it out for you. He wants your name in stone.”
“What does that even mean? Name in stone?”
“You’re such a moron sometimes. Gravestone. I thought it was clever.”
Felix grunted in response and let the subject drop, returning his attention to the large gate in the distance.
He hoped the sun took its sweet time rising today. He didn’t want the gate to open. On the other side of the gate was his older brother, whom Felix had no intention of seeing ever again.
Felix’s father had other plans. The old man had demanded Felix make sure his brother arrived, then to let him know where they were living. Felix’s large family moved around a lot, as his father was poor and continuously behind on rent.
It didn’t bother Felix. He had a small flat which he rented on his own. He only pretended to live at his father’s house, and no one asked how a young man his age could afford a flat by himself.
“I said you’re not listening,” Effie said.
“Sorry,” Felix said. “You were telling me that the Duke wants me gone. I heard you. He has a nice fat bounty on my head.”
“For a while at that, but that’s beside the point.”
Movement by the gate stole Felix’s attention from his apprentice. The two city guards looked at a sun signal, a device from olden times. It glowed blue when the day had started, which unlocked the massive gate.
Felix heard it used magic to glow, and the first Duke of Draada, an Arch-Mage, built the device himself. He thought the idea of magic being real was idiocy. It didn’t exist. Magic was something belonging to charlatans and liars. Yet as the sun peeked over the horizon, the sun signal glowed blue.
From the street, a Priest of Reaur walked around up to the wall in a slow, stately march. The man was dressed in dark blue robes with a hood covering his face. He chanted words Felix didn’t understand in a low grumble.
The priest reached the sun signal and stretched out his right hand, touching it. The magical device stopped glowing, and a loud click echoed around the city gate.
The city guards marched over to the city gate and unlatched it. As the gate was unlatched, it slowly cranked backward. The bottom of the gate lifting into the air away from Felix and the city. When the gate reached horizontal, a long wood post locked the gate in place.

Phantom Sorcerer

Ladies and Gentlemen. I mentioned in a previous post that I have a plan for the new year. Well, that plan is moving forward. At best possible speed.

That plan consists of publishing as many titles as I can with the first book to drop in the month of January. Where in the month exactly, I am not sure. Time is short and there is still lots to do.

That first book is going to be the book that I have renamed to the Phantom Sorcerer.

Here is a brief synopsis of the title.

Felix the swift, not his real name, is a thief and a good one. When the last job goes bad, it cost the life of his apprentice and the freedom of himself and his entire family. He gets dragged across the globe into a world of magic, and Gods. Faced with High Princes, assassins, traitorous brothers, Gods and the scorching heat of the desert. Can Felix overcome these the forces laid against him and become truly free and find a way back to his homeland to free his family? Or will he fall to the hostile environment?

The cover posted above is made by my wonderful wife and cover artist, Grace Pedde. She is an excellent artist and designer. She is an art student that wants to work on book covers and to illustrate children’s books.

The cover is actually the third version of it. The first one was very “Airbender”, while the second was very “Horror”.

Both good covers in their own right, but they don’t suit my story. They were both my cover ideas and it wasn’t until I let her do what she wanted that she came up with the latest one. I think that I will be letting her come up with ideas for covers as she has much better ideas than I do. I am told that the other covers are for sale to anyone looking for a good cover.

Her site is here. And I am sure that the images will be posted sometime later today.

The cover posted above is the first draft of it. I am sure that it will change a bit. I still have at least a half a month before I need to make any final decisions on it.

Enjoy the day and let me know what you think about the cover.

Until next time.