A Little Taste of The Narrative
In honour of two weeks to go until the release on Amazon of my third Plot Bandits novel, The Narrative, I thought I would offer up a little taste of what is to come by presenting an extract from the book itself! I hope it whets the appetite a bit. :)
*****
Shoulders
had never heard a pair of horses scream before. He hadn’t been aware that they
could. He could also have lived without finding that out.
Somewhere
nearby, he could hear Flirt yelling, his bouncing head catching glimpses of her
flattened out and clinging with an alarming amount of desperation to the seat
of the cart she had so abruptly set into motion. He could hear the angry and,
thankfully, fading roars of the chasing Barbarians. He could hear the pounding
of hooves, the screeching of cartwheels that were reaching the limits of their
endurance, the clatter and rattle and tumble of the sacks and barrels loaded in
the cart’s rear that vanished with an occasional dusty crash, presumably as
they were flung into the road. He could feel his body, fingernails clinging to
the edge of the seat as he was bounced around amongst the groceries, battered
and bruised by tumbling supplies, the sack containing his head clasped
desperately against the wagon seat in one hand. But most of all, he could feel
the giant, beefy hand that had just closed with great intent around his right
leg.
Oh bollocks.
They had a Barbarian passenger.
Shoulders instinctively
kicked out and felt his foot contact something fleshy that gave a painful grunt
as the blow struck home. But the hand still grasped and so he kicked and kicked
and kicked again, giving a wild yell as his body was hurled madly from side to
side and battered with loose vegetables, but the hand clung on and he needed to
hit, he needed something to hit him with, he needed…
He needed a
third bloody hand or he’d either have to let go of the cart or his head. Unless…
Oh boy, this
was going to sting. But what else was he supposed to do?
Teeth gritted
and eyes firmly closed, Shoulders swung the sack containing his helmeted head
like a mace.
Oof!
The world spun
dizzyingly as he struggled to keep his grip on the cart, on the sack, but the
hand, the beefy hand was flung away with a yell and the loud thud and groan of
someone large hitting a road surface at speed. Yes! He’d done it!
“Good one!”
Flirt’s voice, Flirt’s hands grabbing his shoulders, trying to haul him
forward as his head danced and bounced in dazed hurly-burly at the end of a
loosely flailing arm. Shoulders tried to focus on the voice, the hands, as the
world swam, tried to haul his head-bearing hand forwards, but everything was so
hazy, everything was so wild…
There was a
smell of smoke. He could hear a rumble of distant voices through the haze,
could hear less dramatic hooves; but suddenly another horse was screaming, he saw
a rearing shape, a desperate rider, and Flirt was yelling and grabbing him as
the whole cart gave a violent lurch sideways to avoid them. The rumble of the
dusty road was gone as the cart, already tossing madly, went insane over
rougher ground and there were cries of alarm, a jerk as white canvas ripped and
slapped across his body, wooden pegs battering him as the remains of some tent
was sent flying and there were glimpses through the rip in the sack of figures
in silver mail diving out of the way and this was not good, he knew it wasn’t
good and…
“Oh Gods, tree!”
Yep. Definitely
not a good sentence.
“Jump!”
And not a good
word. Shoulders felt Flirt grab his body, thrusting it violently sideways. His
hand, already loose around the sack, flung in an arc and suddenly his head was
spinning, flying, hurtling away into the air over the sounds of splintering
wood, crashing, bursting barrels, and bolting horses. He felt his body hit the
ground with a bruising thud, felt Flirt’s hands grasping him, hauling him up,
scurrying him away; but he was more concerned with the dizzying flight his head
was taking, arching, arching up and, with a rush of air, tumbling, tumbling
down…
And then…
Bang.
*****
There you go. :)
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