#Giveaway #Excerpt: 'The House of Bloodstein' by Ren Garcia
We are excited to welcome Author Ren Garcia back for a
wonderful 2 week tour featuring his newest book!
Mysterious and elusive,
Lady Chrysania of Bloodstein calls from the ruins of her castle. She dwells in
the dark, hiding her face, ravaged by an ancient curse. The only way to break
the curse is to win a game called Perlamum. If she loses, she dies. She looks
to her Vith kin in the west, begging for help acquiring the all-important
pieces she needs to play the game.
Lord Kabyl of Blanchefort, his Ne-Countess
Sammidoran, and his cousins answer her call. However, collecting the Perlamum
pieces for Lady Bloodstein is a deadly game. They must face a host of perils:
-The terrible Black Hat in the city of Waam who
knows their every move.
-A hated rival on the planet Xandarr and the
bewildering labyrinth of Gods Temple.
-The man from Shook who cannot be killed.
-A family of vile bravos from the south.
-The diabolical Dead Men of Mare, nigh
invincible creatures straight from an insane nightmare.
To even the odds, Kay and Sam turn to a
forgotten graveyard deep in the Telmus Grove, and the great eminence resting
Can Lady Chrysania of Bloodstein be helped, or,
for that matter . . .
. . . can she be trusted?
Ren Garcia is a Science Fiction/Fantasy author and Texas native who grew up in western Ohio. He has been writing since before he could write, often scribbling alien lingo on any available wall or floor with assorted crayons. He attended The Ohio State University and majored in English Literature. Ren has been an avid lover of anything surreal since childhood, he also has a passion for caving, urban archeology and architecture. His highly imaginative "League of Elder" book series is published by Loconeal Publishing
Connect with the Author here:
Story Excerpt, From Chapter 3: the Wunderlucks:
As they headed for the exit, somebody sitting in a passing booth stuck their foot out, nearly tripping Sam. She stumbled a bit and caught herself on Kay’s shoulder. A hint of quiet snickers came from those seated at the booth.
Kay stopped. “Good sir,” he said. “I do believe you did that on purpose.”
A man in the booth stirred. “And what of it?” he asked in a deep, rumbling voice.
“What of it? You attempted to trip my wife, who just happens to be the Ne-Countess of Blanchefort.”
The man stood. He was a veritable mountain of flesh, brawny, broad in the shoulders with a smallish head with cropped black hair, square chin, and a thick neck. He wore a gaudy insulated spacing suit composed of shiny red material trimmed in bright yellow. His boots were heavy Macco boots meant for space or high altitude work. His three companions in the booth all wore similarly colored attire. An assortment of half-finished drinks sat on their table. Kay recognized them as the people who had taken the painting from Castle Bloodstein.
They snickered and cat-called at Sam.
“So, they’re making Monama dishwashers countesses now?” the female in their group said as she smoked a menthol. “We knew the Vith had no taste and little class, but this?”
“Serve me another drink, Monama . . .”
Kay was momentarily taken aback. He’d never faced such brazen rudeness, especially in the middle of his own village. He was enraged. “You four bravos had best mind your civility.”
“Or what?” said the sour female.
“Or, I could have the lot of you arrested. I could have you executed too. The old laws are still in place.”
The female looked Kay over. She took a luxurious pull from her cigarette and then flicked it at him. “Oh,” she said in a slow growl. “I doubt you’ve the balls for something like that.”
Phillip stepped forward. “If I were you, I’d reserve yourselves and offer an immediate apology to the Ne-Countess.”
“The day we apologize to Monama trash will be a bad one indeed,” the female said, flashing her teeth. She had brownish-silvery hair pulled tight into a net. Her bangs were waxed into curls across her forehead.
“I wonder,” another man at the booth said. “Is the Monama for sale? I’d like to buy her for an hour or two.”
Kay’s hand went to his CARG, ready to unsaddle it and lop their heads off. Sam restrained him. “It’s alright, Kay, we needn’t waste our time with these foolish people. Let’s go,” she said in Anuie.
Hearing Sam’s native language encouraged more poor behavior from the group. “Will you listen to her?”
“Sounds like two pigs having sex, doesn’t it?”
“Hahahahahahaha . . .”
Sarah was fuming. “How about we take you outside and beat the living tar out of the lot of you right here and now, how about that? Nobody talks to the Ne-Countess of Blanchefort like that while I’m around! Got it?”
The rest of the people in the booth stood up. They were all of exceptional size. The lady in their group engaged in a fierce staring contest with the shorter Sarah. The first man spoke again to Kay.
“We heard you were some sort of Vith hero. You look like a little Nancy-Boy to me. I am Ernst Wunderluck, and these with me are my kin: Aiken, Rusty, and Clara. We are the famed Wunderlucks, adventurers and
treasure-hunters supreme! We are the pride of Remnath!”
Wunderlucks? Kay recalled their name was carved on the table in Lady Chrysania’s gallery.
Phillip stood firm. “I notice the thick necks, low brow, small cranial size, and limited apparent intelligence. The lot of you look to be members of the House of Jocanda. Am I correct?”
Sarah laughed. “Jocandas? You mean that stupid House that declared war on the Sisters way back when? You’re a pack of Jo-Boys then, for real! Ha, ha, ha!!” She slapped her leg and howled. “Why don’t you go
find a Sister to vomit on, Jo-Boys.”
The Wunderlucks all turned a shade of red to match their suits.
“We’ve Hospitaler’ed people for less,” Clara said, sizing Sarah up. Clara might have been very pretty had her face not been puckered into an ugly scowl.
“Shaddap, Jo-Boy!” Sarah said.
Ernst fumed. “Nobody calls us that, understand? Nobody!” He reached out to seize Sarah by the hair. Sam shot out and took him by the wrist. She wrenched him off his feet to the floor. Chatter in the bar
immediately ceased. The rest of the Wunderlucks drew weapons from their suits.
“Not so fast!” Ki said coming up from behind, her SK pistol drawn. “What’s going on here?”
“This is a private conversation, Magistrate,” Ernst said, engaging in a test of strength with Sam from his knees and not having much success. “It . . . doesn’t concern you.”
Pop! His hand broke in Sam’s grip and he sweated in pain.
“Drawing weapons in my village in a serious offense, boyo. Your welcome’s officially worn out. Take your things, pay your tab, and blow. I catch you lurking around here again, you’ll all spend time in my jail,
“Is this Vith justice?” Rusty Wunderluck asked. “The Monama just broke my brother’s hand.”
“Seems to me your brother had that and more coming to him. Maybe he’ll find his manners next time,” Ki responded, her finger on the trigger.
The Wunderlucks looked amongst themselves and then returned their weapons to their holsters.
“Fine. We’re going. This is a crap Flop-Town full of Frag-Wagons and Whimple-Poles anyway,” Ernst said. Sam released him and he stood, his hand an ugly shade of purple. The Wunderlucks tossed back the remains of their drinks and headed to the door.
Ernst turned back. “Oh, one last thing, Blanchefort. We heard you got a letter from Bloodstein. Stay out! We’ll do the collecting, right? Us, not you, she contacted us first. That’s our adventure and our spoils. I see you and your trash wife meddling in our business again and I’m not going to be so nice about it.”
Rubbing his wrist, Ernst and the rest of the Wunderlucks went through the door and were gone.