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    The Crossover
    The Crossover
    The Crossover
    Ebook107 pages1 hour

    The Crossover

    By Larry Kollar

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The warrior-mage Chelinn and his friend Lodrán have visited many strange places. But when a curse goes awry, sending them to a place where mundane devices have supplanted magic, nothing is familiar at first. Then, after rescuing a merchant, they find themselves embroiled in a far more dangerous situation.

    As hundreds of lives hang in the balance, two heroes and their new friends must use all their talents to foil an evil plot—and survive until they can catch a rainbow and return home.

    The Crossover transports classic fantasy characters into a modern-day setting. Neither Earth nor Termag will ever be the same!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLarry Kollar
    Release dateJan 27, 2013
    ISBN9781301446698
    The Crossover
    Author

    Larry Kollar

    Larry Kollar lives in north Georgia, surrounded by kudzu, pines, and in-laws. He writes fantasy, science fiction, and horror, and now leads the #TuesdaySerial project for online serial fiction. You can find news and snippets of his strange fiction at http://www.larrykollar.com/ For Larry's even stranger reality, check out http://farmanor.blogspot.com/ Follow Larry on Twitter at FARfetched58.

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      Book preview

      The Crossover - Larry Kollar

      THE CROSSOVER

      by

      Larry Kollar

      Copyright © 2013 Larry Kollar

      All rights reserved.

      • • •

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      For republishing permission, please contact the author at lkollar@gmail.com.

      Other Books by Larry Kollar

      White Pickups (Book 1 of the Truckalypse)

      Xenocide

      Accidental Sorcerers (Accidental Sorcerers, Book 1)

      Pickups and Pestilence (Book 2 of the Truckalypse) (April 2013)

      Water and Chaos (Accidental Sorcerers, Book 2) (Summer 2013)

      Contents

      Acknowledgements

      Chapter 1 – At Tirfa-Wold

      Chapter 2 – Far from Home

      Chapter 3 – The Plot

      Chapter 4 – Bomb Threat

      Common Terms and Phrases

      Excerpt: Accidental Sorcerers

      Excerpt: Heroes and Vallenez, by Angela Kulig

      About the Author

      Acknowledgements

      No author works alone, and I’m no exception.

      I learn something new with every new project. This time, the big lesson was that you have to be careful about making the reader feel what the characters are feeling. I blogged the beginning of Chapter 2 as a #FridayFlash (titled Far from Home), and got a ton of negative feedback, because the readers were feeling the sensory overload of the characters. Whoops! So if I was wearing a hat, I’d doff it for those of you who commented on that piece.

      Closer to home, no pun intended, thanks to my wife Margaret and my grandson Mason for adjusting the work-writing-life balance, even when I really didn’t want it adjusted. Beta readers, Craig W.F. Smith and Angela Kulig, pointed at several things that needed fixing. And once again, Angela found the artwork that became the cover.

      And, as always, thank you, the readers, reviewers, and bloggers who help to spread the word!

      — "FAR Manor"

      January 2013

      Chapter 1 – At Tirfa-Wold

      If the sun shone anywhere this morning, it was east of the Avenger Flotilla. Clouds overspread the sky above, but the morning sun cut through a line of open sky along the horizon, turning the sails golden. A stiff northwest wind moved the three ships quickly through the choppy water along the northern coast.

      At the first glimpse of sunlight, the lookout on the flagship Holy Crusade winded a horn; in response, crew and soldiers filed through the hatches onto the deck of each ship. The soldiers’ uniforms sported the emblem of Ak’koyr: the seven Rounds rising to Heaven, with the sun beneath. But among those on the third ship, Hand of the Divine, were six men wearing no uniform. These were impressees from Roth’s Keep, brought aboard with some cost to the press gang. They milled around the deck, trying to find a place away from the others.

      Close to shore, one whispered. Prob’ly due north of Roth’s Keep too. We could jump overboard and swim for it.

      This wind put us a good ways east by now, Endrik. It would be two weeks’ march at a minimum, said the tallest one, chewing his long black mustache. If someone left us a cache of gear and food, we might make it.

      So you think we ought to just ride along, Lodrán?

      I don’t have any better ideas at the moment. Lodrán shrugged. And neither do you.

      "Face—home! an officer bellowed. Salute!"

      All on board turned to face the same direction—toward Ak’koyr, as best they knew. They put palms to their heads and bowed, except the impressees. These, after ensuring nobody was watching, chose to tap their foreheads with one finger—a salute to an inferior, and thus a calculated insult. Hundreds of voices sang out, ringing over the waves:

      Hail, Ak’koyr, hail!

      Lifting Camac’s holy light.

      Thy banner shall prevail

      Against all forces of the night!

      Hail, Ak’koyr, hail!

      Far away, yet we hold dear

      As evildoers assail

      Our home and all that remains pure!

      With great glad hearts we sing to thee

      We shall return thy victory—

      Hail! Ak’koyr, hail!

      Endrik, who sang for his supper when no one needed his other talents, had altered the words to the anthem for his friends’ amusement. And so the impressees sang (not loudly):

      Fail, Ak’koyr, fail!

      On Camac’s shores a great blight.

      Poor manners we detail,

      Against your arrogance we fight!

      Fail, Ak’koyr, fail!

      Far away, yet all too near

      Your evil has assailed

      Our home and all that remains pure!

      With angered hearts we sing to thee

      For we are but your impressees—

      Fail! Ak’koyr, fail!

      After the morning devotion, breakfast was served. A light drizzle greeted the impressees as they returned to the deck with their meals. They lifted hoods, or donned broad-brimmed hats, and otherwise ignored it. Dampness on shipboard was nothing new, and the deck offered as much privacy as could be found. Still, they spoke in lowered voices.

      Have you overheard anything, Lodrán? Endrik asked.

      Only what we hoped to find, said Lodrán. We’re bound for Tirfa-Wold.

      The sea caves? asked another. The Wolds only use ‘em during the summer, I’m told. What’s there?

      Something to do with that raid on Mostil. You heard about that, right? The others nodded. The raiders are from Ryddast, using the caves as a base. They’ve mostly harried the Northern Reach, and some of the ship traffic going through the Straits, but nobody expected them to come into the Gulf itself. The Wolds won’t arrive for two months, so the Easterners have plenty of time before they’ll have to scuttle back home.

      We’ll be there this afternoon, if this wind stays up, one of the others said. I hope they don’t intend a frontal attack, I’ve heard it’s a natural fortress.

      Ak’koyr? Endrik turned and spat over the railing. When have their tactics involved anything but brute force?

      • • •

      The flotilla rushed east, strong winds pushing the ships through intermittent spits of rain. The line of clear sky to the east grew higher through the day. Lodrán and his fellow impressees kept watch on deck as long as possible, staying out of reach of orders.

      Hoy, look, said one impressee, pointing up and ahead. A rainbow.

      We’ve been chasing it for a hour, Endrik laughed. You just now—

      Fortress ho! a lookout on the Holy Crusade bawled. Rounding a point, they saw several makeshift docks jutting from a narrow, rocky beach; a half-dozen fastboats floated alongside the docks.

      Captains screamed, Full on! Keep those fastboats in port! Subordinates bellowed orders to their subordinates. The impressees complied as little as possible without visibly hindering the other crew.

      But the docks seemed deserted.

      Look at that! Endrik gasped, pointing at the hillside. Tirfa-Wold—or loosely, Wolds’ summer dwelling—was a high cliff, terraced with switchbacking, climbing pathways and studded with black holes—caves cut into the ancient rock.

      Wolds built that? a nearby soldier gasped.

      Who knows? Lodrán shrugged. It could be natural. Or they might have dug it out over centuries.

      The soldier shook his head. Lodrán tried to gauge the size of the cave mouths. Damned tight, he decided.

      Endrik spat. I thought Easterners liked a bit more comfort—

      Spears. Lodrán looked toward the hatches. We need to get to the weapons cache.

      Ain’t a problem, said the soldier. Not locked, not guarded. The one thing they do right around here. You never know when we’ll need ‘em.

      Good. Let’s go, folk. This is important.

      The six impressees slipped through the soldiers and sailors, now massing on deck. No one paid them

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