WARNING: adult sexual content in this chapter

By Jane Carver

Emotions rarely found lodging in Gambrel’s heart. Only after joining the Ancade fleet did disturbing sentiments bother him. His desire for Vangee stemmed from a man’s natural lust for a warm womanly body. Such feelings had long since passed the stage of mere hunger. He refused to deal with those gentler emotions.

Dara filled his world with warmth, like Lindan once did. Innocence, childish delight, and faith moved the tiny one through each day. She seemed to think him worthy of her time. He accepted her into his life, knowing someday he would go one way and she another. Go safely, he hoped. Not like his beloved Lindan. Gone in a blast of her making.

Anger had never stirred his emotions. Revenge yes; anger no. However, fellow passenger Gastrojan angered him. Sometimes the man merely annoyed the enforcer. Other times Gambrel muttered under his breath at the man’s stupidity when Gastrojan baited him in sight of others. He remained silent and walked away. How long this voyage would be if such behavior continued.

No threat went unnoticed. But he did not want to fight Gastrojan. He knew not what consequences awaited those who fought and was unwilling to find out.

“Sarjean!” The word alone identified the speaker. Everyone aboard the Fenix called him by his first name but Gastrojan. To ignore the man would only cause more noise, so Gambrel faced him. For once the man came by himself. Pharlie and Lycol usually accompanied him when he taunted. Annoyed at being stopped, he rolled his eyes.

Gastrojan stepped closer. His gaze glowed with a feral light, indicative of his lack of human-ness. Gambrel knew he hailed from the Lyonine ancestors of Kindoes. Their culture retained the instincts of hunters but not the cleverness for a direct attack. The race dealt in subterfuge.

“Where are your partners, Gastrojan? I didn’t think you traveled without them.” He would be the aggressor. Enough of this man’s insinuations and snide remarks.

“Sarjean, Sarjean.” Gastrojan waved his hands as if he commiserated with a friend’s silly statement. “I have no need of my companions. I am capable of talking without someone guarding my back.” He insinuated Gambrel would attack from behind without provocation. “Besides, I wanted to ask something personal and did not want it spread around the ship.” Short of laying an arm across the taller man’s shoulder, Gastrojan acted like they were companions.

“What would you ask that others should not hear? You make it your duty to ask embarrassing questions when innocents stand close,” Gambrel reminded him.

“Not true. If I ask something that shames you, it is not my fault.” Hands spread wide at his sides, Gastrojan acted guileless, eyes large with supposed hurt.

Gambrel snorted, an undignified sound that should have told Gastrojan exactly what he thought of such a statement. He attempted to pass the man, but the ship hit turbulence and tossed him against his tormentor.

“Off, you great oaf!” Gastrojan pushed him away as if he had been attacked. “Are you always this clumsy?” He looked down his lean nose at Gambrel. “Are you this inept when you bed Vangee Windrum? You undress her with your eyes where others see. In your cabin each eventide, do you strip her and lay her out for your pleasure?” Vicious words. Words meant to incite Gambrel’s anger. “Do you run rough hands over her supple skin, leaving marks where others do not see? Does your body cover hers completely when you enter her? Does she scream into your mouth in pain or pleasure? How many times have you taken her? Is she as cold in bed as she appears on deck?”

Each word burned Gambrel’s heart. Like a statue he froze, hands fisted at his side, his body so taunt with the desire to kill he vibrated. He narrowed his eyes and breathed through his nose, kept a grip on his temper while the other man spewed vile suggestions.

Part of him recognized his desires in Gastrojan’s words. How often did he want Vangee unclothed in his oversized bed? Want her to scream with delight and bliss? He yearned for her to love him back, let him come to her in all ways? That’s what hurt. This man merely spoke the truth. To fight Gastrojan would give value to his words.

Tighter Gambrel drew into himself. Fingers curled against palms so unyielding they cramped. His eyes burned with hate, a checked craving to kill another. So easy. Killing would be so simple. But the consequences. He did not know them. Would death be his reward for stopping Gastrojan’s insinuations?

“Leave, Gastrojan.” Each word came hard and low. “My greatest wish is to kill you, but I won’t.” The other man stepped back in surprise at the unexpectedly blunt statement. “Never repeat what you have said. I pledge death if your words lack respect for Vangee Windrum ever again.”

Something in Gambrel’s expression must have convinced Gastrojan he went too far. He backed up, leaving Gambrel quivering with rage, a visibly seething mixture of hate and control.

The sound of running feet came from behind the two men. Gastrojan turned to leave. His recent look of fear turned to a sneer then a broad grin. Vangee skidded to a stop beside Gambrel. Her wide eyes flashed with irritation at Gastrojan.

“‘Brel, what happened?” Her breath came in hard gasps, perhaps from her scramble across the long deck. Fear shaded her question.

“Gastrojan’s usual taunts. Nothing more.” Gambrel’s hands would not open, his stiff fingers refused to loosen. Even his back felt like a rod rode his spine, so rigid and straight he stood.

“He tried to make you fight, didn’t he?” She faced Gambrel, read his body language. One hand rested on his forearm. Her eyes widened when her palm encountered rock-hard muscles.

She looked to where Gastrojan had disappeared. “I wondered why Pharlie and Lycol cornered me below deck. They trapped me with their discussion of the voyage and future. They trapped me. I never dreamed they sought to keep us apart.”

Her insight amazed him. Gastrojan did try to provoke him into a fight. To incite him while his friends delayed Vangee, the one person who could sense and stop violent emotions.

When she ran her hand down his arm to his fist, she must have realized how tightly he held himself. Slowly she worked her fingers between his until they lay spread once again. Shoulder to shoulder she stood with him, her hand resting in his, waiting for his temper to cool.

“We avoided harm this even tide. If a person fights aboard ship, the contract says he will be put off on the next planet, be it habitable or not.” She cut her gaze up to his. He breathed steadier now. “You have no need of my help. You control your own destiny, and you did it well.” Her gaze went the length of the deck before she added, “I am proud of you.”

“Vangee?” He didn’t know what to make of her praise. No one but Xantis had ever said that. Such admiration disconcerted him because he loved her.

“We will speak of this no more. Let us join the others at meal.” Embarrassed by her words, flushed with a rosy hue, she slipped from his grasp and walked back the way she came. When he didn’t immediately follow, she cut a glance over her shoulder, much as Dara would. Looking around the edge of her head cover, she smiled and held out one hand.

Confused by one man’s hate and this woman’s praise, Gambrel clasped hers in his mammoth paw-like hand.

* * * *

Captain Merlo entertained Vangee, Gambrel, Dara, her mother and Thacton, another male interested in the lovely Effie. Their table rang with laughter. The captain’s ability to tell a tale kept them amused long past the time when most others left the large room.

“Captain.” A runner from the engineer’s office stopped beside his shoulder and handed over a message.

“Duty calls, my friends.” He pushed back his chair and stood, tweaked one of Dara’s curls, bowed to the women then left.

“What a picture the two of you make,” Effie laughed at Gambrel.

“Huh?”

“Dara sits on the edge of the table, tucked into the curve of your arm where it rests around her rear. Chest to chest yet she turns, props her arm against your shoulder, and you both watch the captain leave, the same questioning look on your faces.” She chuckled. “Dara takes after you. She does everything you do.”

“Humm, that is not good, Effie, if she catches me saying a bad word some day.” He rubbed his nose before passing a hand over his smile. “I say things on occasion a child should not listen to or repeat, especially when we take in a sail, and I cannot secure the gasket properly. Then no one should hear what I say.” With great dignity, he gave her a formal bow and offered an apology in advance if Dara ever repeated an inappropriate word.

Before he stood, Dara hug him close. She whispered, “Love you, ‘Brel.” With a nod to the ladies, he joined Pessios and Canfanto for duty. When they reached deck, he sensed something different in the atmosphere. What it was he could not say, but the ship pitched more than usual. The sails rode bellyful. Turbulence abounded where there should be none.

The three men made their way forward and reported to Mr. Honess, the first mate. When the Fenix dived to starboard, Canfanto grabbed a shroud to save himself from being tossed overboard. Overhead the sails made loud popping sounds.

“Rough sailing today, mates,” the sailor said unnecessarily without a hint of humor in his weatherworn face. In unison, the three men rolled their eyes but not until the old man turned away.

“Is all well so far, Mr. Honess?” Gambrel asked. A tingling sensation nagged the back of his neck, a feeling that saved his hide in the past when danger lurked close.

The older man’s only response: “Keep a weather eye, mates.”

Around the group, the tension grew thick. Gambrel cast a questioning glance at Pessios. His friend shrugged. Both sensed something different but, being unseasoned sailors, knew not what to expect.

Perhaps that’s why they weren’t surprised when a fist-sized flaming chunk of rock whistled by Canfanto and crashed into the bulkhead. Immediately Merlo’s voice sounded deep and steady above the increasing racket, his commands coming fast.

“Clear the deck of passengers. Furl all sails. Prepare for a rock shower. Lash everything then go below.” The helmsman fought the wheel. The six-foot-wide circle of wood bucked in its efforts to dodge what could not be avoided.

Fire rocks everywhere from finger to fist size pelted the ship. Not a great number but enough to cause concern. What were few now might become many soon, so the sailors scrambled to do the captain’s bidding. The fiery missiles might burn the sails and slow the ship, maybe strand it if a large enough piece crashed through the hull to the engines below. Burning rocks hit the deck, bounced off the rail, and sizzled through sails as hands swung onto the ratlines.

Gambrel grabbed a shroud and put one foot on a ratline only to dodge a rock that sailed by his head. The singed smell of sulfur lingered in his nostrils. His heart pounding, he raced up the lines. Out across the thick rope he edged along with Domas and Nhortin, a younger sailor. While others below eased the halyard to help furl the sail, those standing on the thick ropes worked the gaskets around the material, securing bulky sails safely to the yardarm.

The work became more dangerous. Flaming rocks hurtled down in no predictable pattern. No time to think. Lash the sails and get below without being bashed in the head, knocked into space, or trapped on the ratlines.

Despite a hammering heart, a wildness filled Gambrel with the joy of beating the elements, defying the universal deities in a bold battle. Was he insane? The grin on Domas’ face said no. The old sailor laughed at the danger and challenge.

“Work, matey. It’s them or us. By the gods, we’ll lash her tight and make it below before the rocks belt us.” A deep belly laugh roared over the yards. Doman slapped Gambrel on the back hard enough to knock him overboard.

A rock bigger than the others hit Pessios. A horrid scream and the man swung out into space, holding a rope by one hand. He almost fell, but Gambrel reached out and grabbed his tunic. Hauling the Lazzardian back to the ratlines, he didn’t know who was more scared, he or Pessios. At the moment, he thought he was. Pessios looked ready to pass out. One arm hung at an odd angle, and blood dripped from a deep slash along the upper muscles. The man would not make it down without help.

Pessios lay against the ropes, breathing in unmeasured gasps. “My arm. Numb. I can’t make it down.” Both clung to lines alongside the mizzen upper topsail, half way up the mast. The deck lay far below for a man with a broken arm.

“Slide between me and the lines, Pessios. We go as fast as you want. You won’t fall because I will hold you.” He maneuvered Pessios in front of him. In that position, any rocks threatening them would hit him. Gambrel willed the other to stay awake until they reached the deck.

Each time Pessios lowered his foot, his body rested back against Gambrel’s. They progressed slowly but steady until another rock hit.

Gambrel screamed when a flaming rock smashed into his shoulder and literally burned its way diagonally across his back to his waist before falling away. He breathed past the shock of the injury fast enough to put out the fire burning at his hip. For a moment, he almost flattened Pessios against the ropes as he struggled to remain conscious. Now it was he who might plunge to his death.

He fought past the blackness threatening to overwhelm him. Each man moved through a fog of pain now. Each fumbled in his descent. With the deck only yards below them, the Fenix pitched starboard. Both leaned far out from the side of the ship then slammed back into the ropes with a vicious thud. Pessios cried out when he slipped from beneath Gambrel’s bulk.

As Pessios flew, the deck swayed out from under him, attempting to abandon him to space. At the last moment, that same deck tilted back.

“Gambrel!” A scream drew his attention. He watched in horror as Pessios hurtled downward. Vangee stood below, hands to her face, eyes wide in fear. Before his horrified gaze, she disappeared beneath the falling body and a small bombardment of space rocks.

“Vangee!” Despite his injury, he scurried down the ratline, swung over the shrouds and scrambled on hands and knees. With more care than he ever used before, he rolled Pessios over. Was either hurt by the last salvo? Willing hands lifted Pessios. He groaned. Gambrel’s wayward thoughts told him groaning was good. The man lived.

“Vangee?” Gambrel’s frantic call did not waken her. Others reached for her, but his snarl stopped them. “Back! She’s mine.” His words acknowledged what his heart desired.

“Clear the decks…now!” No one ignored Captain Merlo’s command. “All hands below.”

Four sailors carried Pessios in a scrambling dash across the deck. Gambrel scooped up Vangee and cuddled her in his embrace. Tears impeded his progress while flaming rocks fell in a heavy sheet. As he ran, her eyes opened.

“Lean in close. We are in danger.” The open hatch leading to their cabin lay ahead. Thacton stood inside, urged them on. “Almost there.”

Before they reached safety, however, a rock the size of Dara’s head slammed into his hip. The air in his lungs abandoned him. Stars in the sky danced in his fading sight. Like a man shot from behind, he staggered forward, arched his back, and screamed. On his knees, Gambrel fought excruciating pain. He lurched toward the opening. His vision threatened to go black, his hip burned with every move, and the woman in his arms, while more precious than his life, grew heavier.

“Down. Put me down. Now, ‘Brel.” Her words filtered through the cloud of pain closing around him. He stood Vangee on her own unsteady feet. He let her go just in time. With an agonizing groan, he fell unconscious through the hatch.

* * * *

Fire tortured his body. Gambrel fought his way through dark layers of pain to wake in his own bed. He tried to move, but streaks of flame shot across his back and rear. For a moment he couldn’t focus. Lost his breath.

Grief-stricken sobs filtered through his consciousness. Who cried? Why? Was someone dead? Nothing made sense. He gained control of the pain then something moved across his back and drew the fire up to sharp points again. He gasped and arched his body. His breath hissed from between clenched teeth. Eyes screwed tight, he fell forward on to the bed covers.

 A soft voice called him. “‘Brel? I must clean your wounds. It hurts, I know, but I have to. Please accept my sorry statement.” Delicate sobs accompanied her words.

Vangee. She nursed him. Hurt? How? A soft cloth moved over his shattered body. What happened?

A flaming rock shower. Pessios hurt. Vangee injured. Now he remembered.

“Vangee? Are you hurt?” He attempted to turn, but a single hand on one shoulder stilled him.

“Lie still. Your back and rear have been scored by fire. You must rest.”

“But are you well?” Gambrel gingerly turned his head. She sat next to his hip on the edge of the bed.

“I am. Pessios did not hurt me when he fell. He protected me from the fire rocks.” She dipped her cloth into a bowl of liquid and gently pushed Gambrel so he laid on his stomach again.

With a sigh, he lay down. “The ship? Are we safe?” Rocks still peppered the deck. He heard them. The Fenix swayed in its hurry to clear the assault.

“Who can say if we are safe? All are below decks, and the ship is not in flames. We make way with the use of propulsion engines. If that is safe then yes, we are.” Vangee sounded doubtful. She added, “For the moment.”

A dozen questions entered and departed Gambrel’s mind. Nothing seemed important now but the touch of her hand against his punished flesh. He hissed as she touched the left lower side of his back above his waist.

“The burn is worse at your hip rather than your shoulder where the rock first struck. I am almost finished. This medicine takes away the pain and must be reapplied often.” She rubbed a thick gel on the wound then reached for clean cloth and laid it out in long strips.

“What will you do with that?” Gambrel rose on one elbow and grimaced when another burn of agony caught him. “I thought you said the medicine would take the pain.” He twisted to see his back but failed.

“That is not your only injury. This is to cover the wounds.” She lifted a strip, ready to lay it on the burn, when he stopped her.

“Leave the wound uncovered. Injuries heal faster in open air.” His strength gone, he rested his head on folded arms.

“Are you sure?”

“You’ve never been injured, have you?” His voice sounded so weak.

“Never.”

“Then you must trust this is the best way.”

“I still have to clean and care for your other wound. Lay down and try to rest.” One hand brushed his back, her delicate touch giving a sorry statement in advance of the pain she would cause.

“I’ll live. Get on with it.”

When Vangee’s cool hand rested on the right side of his rear, Gambrel almost rose off the bed. A single touch held him prisoner. A cloth cleaned his injury, while her hand maneuvered the flesh.

Did the woman have any idea what she did to his composure? He gritted his teeth. His body laid before her revealed for the first time. The bed sheet covered only to his lower legs. Gambrel went hard immediately.

Moving would give credence to her power. But his shaft swelled. He must shift his legs apart a bit to relieve this new pain. Pain of desire. One caused by the pleasure of a woman’s touch.

“Am I hurting you?” Vangee sensed his discomfort but did not understand the reason.

Be honest for once. If she challenged him to seek what he most desired then this moment demanded honesty. Easy words to say. Hard words to heed. Perhaps she would misunderstand, and they could get through this without him scaring her. And he would avoid embarrassment.

“‘Brel?” Whether she moved without thought or not, she leaned over his back. One hand smoothed the curve of his rear below the terrible burn. The other hand gently curved around his shoulder. Both massaged, soothing an ache, little knowing his arousal grew larger.

When he didn’t answer immediately, she leaned closer. Her breasts touched the uninjured part of his back, and her hair dangled next to his ear. Gambrel couldn’t lie still any longer. His shaft lay thick and throbbing between his legs, and he had to reposition the straining flesh or die in agony. He lifted his hips beneath her palm so the thickness eased up toward his stomach.

Vangee sensed his hurt. She caressed him while she crooned soothing nonsense. The hand on his shoulder cupped his muscles and held firm. A sweet kiss touched his injured back.

Despite the soothing medicine that numbed the skin, Gambrel felt her lips touch him. This time he drew a deep breath and inhaled her scent. That subtle musk he recognized as hers alone. Volts of power shot through him.

Did he hurt? Yes, he hurt with a need only she could assuage.

“I hurt, Vangee.” Gambrel battled his passion as long as he could then gave into his desire. “Give me your hand.”

In a soft sweep, her hand followed the curve of his arm until it ran up under his head. He held her fingers tightly, trapped somewhere between his forehead and loose hair.

She brushed the silken mass to one side. “The fire rock not only burned your back, but cut the end of your braid. Your hair is shorter.” She buried her face in the dark cool strands then wrapped them around her fingers.

“Let me soothe you, Gambrel.” For the first time since meeting her, Vangee sounded like a woman rather than a Radiant or a ship owner. Her whispered words ate at the last of his resolve. He kept his head turned from her but curled her fingers beneath him to kiss her palm.

“Touch my rear. Rub the skin.”

Vangee scooted down until she lay next to him. One hand touched him from arm to waist, to hip then moved further down his leg. Up his body again, she gathered a thick hank of hair in her fist and kissed it. Her groan of pleasure came in delicate whispers. She fit her body’s curves to every hollow of his.

Gambrel forgot his injuries when she touched him intimately. Feather-light, her palm skimmed his rear, followed the curve of his ass to the side of his hip. Like an explorer, she traced the outline of his body from hip to the seam running down the middle of his behind. One long finger dipped but did not penetrate that long line. With mind-numbing thrills, she followed the hollows and bumps of his spine. Down again to the other cheek, to wantonly cup and squeeze his flesh. Bold. But not bold enough for Gambrel. He needed, craved, and she would satisfy him this day.

“Follow the seam, Vangee, to where my legs meet.” He spoke to one unmated, one who must be taught. Above all else, he had to remember that.

She surprised him by following his instructions explicitly. Her palm, hot with passion’s heat, lay against the back of his leg, playing with the hair on his skin.

“So crisp. Your skin feels heavier, rougher than mine. I like this difference.”

Anticipation wound Gambrel tight. Again, he lifted and moved his legs further apart. This time her palm rode him when he shifted.

“Fall between my legs and touch my desire.” He held her hand beneath his cheek in a death grip. Would she pull back in innocent embarrassment?

His whole body came to attention when her fingers slipped into the furriness between his legs, found then grasped his balls. Gambrel groaned in heartfelt bliss.

“Did I hurt you?” Ecstasy held him so entrenched that her voice seemed to come from afar.

“Never, my love.” Moving his leg farther, he gave her more room to explore. Now his manhood lay exposed. Sight and touch. Her hand slipped from beneath his head. She rose on one elbow.

“You are so large I can not see ….” She rested her palm against his rear. “I must check that you are not hurt anywhere else.”

Innocent words? Or wicked womanly intentions? He didn’t care what excuse she used as long as she touched him. Eased his yearning.

She rose above him. When she caught his glance, she blushed a charming pink, a deep color that complimented her vibrant purple and lavender hair.

Between the long injury across his upper back and the wound on his rear, she curved her body over him, facing his legs. He grew frustrated because she blocked his view. But her hand and words told him what she was doing.

“Are all men so big?”

“I have no idea. I only know you make me this way.”

“Really?” She sounded sincere.

His forehead dropped again when she took up his balls in hand and rolled them like Fraggle nuts, a delicacy resembling a man’s appendages, being hairy, hard, and tasty. Gambrel didn’t think her ready for a taste yet.

“Slide your palm up my front and cup me.” Each word ground out, sounded like torture. Indeed, his pleasure bordered on excruciating pain when Vangee slid further over his rear and pushed her hand past his balls.

“Oh ‘Brel. I can barely get my hand around it. It’s so long.” Though she addressed him, she sounded like she was in a world of her own. “So wonderful. Smooth, but hard. Seamed. With ridges that throb when I rub them.”

Indeed. Gambrel’s entire body throbbed when she caressed his erection. He almost exploded when she ran her fingers down then grasped and fondled his balls again.

“I want to see.” Her shy words thrilled him. Was she ready to mate with him? Gambrel prayed the gods of the universe heard his prayer.

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My latest novel is hot off the press and ready for you to read! I’m excited about this one. I’ll add some pictures I used as inspiration. I’m calling this one my arm-chair novel. Read the introduction, and you’ll see why.

Enjoy!

And Chapter 15 of Sailing the Astral Tides will be posted in a few minutes after this one is.

Enthusiastically, Jane

The Sergeant and the Knight

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by Jane Carver

An old soldier. A medieval knight. Together in the wrong place and the wrong time.

Jake Border leaves the Civil War battlefield behind as he marches toward a certain death. The unnamed knight has waited for centuries for someone to release the curse. But when these two meet, they stand shoulder to shoulder in a strange fantasy world that is hard to accept.

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Purchase
Kindle ♥ Smashwords ♥ Nook ♥ Apple ♥ Google Play ♥ Kobo ♥ PRINT

Release Date: April 20, 2026
Genre: Time Travel / Historical Romance

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Excerpt

Chapter One

The sergeant staggered forward. At least it seemed so to him. Blood ran down his face and despite his feeble attempts to wipe it away, still flowed steadily.

Jacob Border feared he might be dying. Would die if he couldn’t find his way out of these infernal woods. He stumbled, went down on one knee, his arm braced against an oak. Using the sturdy tree, he pulled himself up but leaned against the damp truck, gathering his waning breath and fading strength.

“One foot in front of the other, Jake,” he mumbled, his sight narrowing to black then returning. That’s what he told the men in his unit when they fought. They followed him despite his distance. He didn’t want to know about their wives or kids or fears. He heard their whispers in the darkness of night or carried on the smoke of a warming campfire. He didn’t want to know because he had nothing to share in return.

He’d always looked for challenges. That’s what drove him forward. With no family and living on the streets of grubby towns, joining the army seemed like a reasonable challenge when he was sixteen or so.

Years later though, this war was a challenge he couldn’t figure out. Why were men in the same country fighting each other? Men from the North. Men from the South. Men wearing blue uniforms. Men wearing butternut brown uniforms.

Jake stumbled again, his vision blurred. His hearing came and went. Did he hear drums? Gunfire? Was that the smell of smoke from discharged rifles? All the horrors he’d endured—and lived through—in the last three years ran together in his foggy brain.

His legs trembled now, and he fell, hitting the ground hard enough to elicit a deep groan. He reached out to a fallen log next to him but had to try several times before he actually had a firm enough grip on it. Even then, he wondered if he had strength enough to get up again.

He managed to pull himself up so his back sagged against the log. His gaze swept the area—a skill that often saved his unit from surprise attacks. He didn’t trust his eyes or ears right now though.

“Maybe it’s time to rest, Jake. Looks like a good place for that. Nothin’ here but me and a bunch of damn trees.” Saying the words aloud helped him feel alive, but he realized he wouldn’t last much longer.

Jake never gave into regrets. If he made a decision that turned out bad, he took the consequences on the chin and moved on. Right now, though, he regretted not thanking the kid who beat the drums for them when they moved into battle.

A long hard day followed by a night filled with meetings with officers planning a surprise attack meant he got only a few hours of sleep last night. He woke feeling old and grumpy. He no sooner pushed back the flap of his tent and stepped out into the thickest damn fog he’d ever seen than the drummer appeared at his side, using two hands to hold a full cup of coffee.

“Real coffee, sir. Cobbed it from the captain’s tent when the cook was distracted.” The kid held out the cup and grinned—a grin that told the sergeant the boy created the distraction so he could snatch this cup of precious liquid.

Too busy holding the cup to his mouth then savoring the taste of actual coffee beans, Jake never got a chance to thank the boy. The youngster had no reason to bring him anything, but the kid was sharp. Must have realized Jake needed something strong to get through this next big push.

“Not dying here. I’ll rot like this log.” He patted the log as if it were a friendly dog then rolled over and pulled his worn-out body up onto his stomach. By dent of sheer will, the hardheaded fifty-year-old sergeant finally stood.

“You fall again, you damn fool, you’re not getting up,” he warned. His rational thinking played out about then. He banged from one tree trunk to the next. “I never moved like this even when I was stinkin’ drunk,” he told the next tree he reached for.

Too bad his next move was to a sapling not stout enough to hold his weight. The tree bent, and Jake fell face first at the base of a massive tree, its base covered with ivy.

A breeze moved over his body, cooling the aches, the insistent pounding in his head. His hands lay buried in the bright green ivy, the dirt beneath rich, refreshing. Pink flower petals lay atop the greenery. Two fingers reached for one pale petal, its softness like nothing Jake had ever felt. He held that delicate blossom as if it might break. He moved his hand, reaching for another, but the effort took more strength than he had.

His hand fell forward, resting on something hard. Not natural. Not a tree trunk. Metal? His fingers explored. That’s all he had energy for now—wiggling his fingers, using them to make sense of what he’d discovered.

A shoe? A metal shoe? His declining strength—boosted by natural curiosity—surged momentarily so he could push his fingers higher, feeling what might be an ankle. Metal still encased whatever this was. A statue? In the middle of nowhere?

He was dying—no getting round that reality any longer, but he’d be damned if he left before he uncovered what he found.

Gathering what strength he had left, he pushed his hand against the metal shoe, shoved, then screamed in excruciating pain, to lie on his back facing what he reasoned was a sight intended only for those who had finally drawn their last breath.

His arm lay propped up against a leg—one covered in plates of metal. Moveable pieces lay across the knees and elbows. Metal armor covered the body up to the head. A round helmet protected the neck and face. A cape fell from the shoulders down one side of the figure, pulled up to lie across the lap.

It sat, head down, slumped against the broad tree trunk, its hands clasped together in the lap atop the cape. Something about those hands seemed out of character. Not quite what he expected from this—this person.

Or was this a statue tucked away by some eccentric in a forgotten forest?

Person or statue, Jake recognized a warrior. Someone like himself. A warrior who gave all and succumbed to the one thing no one could defeat—death.

His arm moved so he could turn one last time. Even in death, Jake wanted to be closer. He laid his head across the foot, his hand resting on the other. Blood trickled from his head onto the metal. A hot tear trickled down his dirty cheek to drop softly on the shoe.

He thought the shoe moved, but he was dead. What did he care? His last breath came as a soft glove touched his unshaven face.

The picture of the knight is off of Facebook and yes, that picture of the man is Pedro Pascal as seen in The Last of Us. That picture is what gave me the idea for this entire novel. :-

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