Greetings good people!!
Hey one of the main reasons I created this blog was to talk about my book; Avenging Knights. Crazy enough I talked about almost everything besides it. Now don’t get me wrong it is a good book if you are into fantasy adventure type of thing but now I am going to get back to my original intent (even though I will be posting other things for the next 4 weeks in a row LOL). It is really hard to talk about myself; mostly my own works but if you are not doing it; who will huh??
Well here is an excerpt from Avenging Knights “Rebirth of Lost Honor”
Enjoy and thanks for taking the time…
“Forgive me Sire but I have a question,” asked Bojo the science
advisor. “When will this plan be put into effect and also will we get an
opportunity to examine it?”
“One question, huh Bojo,” remarked Demities Saxmous.
“Sorry Sire, I meant to ask a pair.”
“Of course,” chuckled Demities Saxmous. “Look for the summary
plan in the next couple of days.”
“Yes Sire,” replied a hesitant Bojo.
“Now I must retire and attend to other matters of state. Th is
meeting is adjourned.”
Demities Saxmous stood up and exited the encircling room,
followed by the majority of the advisors in attendance. Only three
remained behind to ruminate for a bit on what they just heard.
“This is madness; I haven’t heard of any confi rmed malice from
these so-called rebels…”
“Quiet Advisor Tork,” snapped Bojo in a low pitch. “If our Lord’s
ears are among us, you would be accused of sedition without fault.” All
three advisors were middle age men that showed from their gray hairs
tuck promptly under their respective noble hats. Bealom was the tallest
of the three, reaching the height of 5’11 as Bork and Tork were each
5’8. Tork was dark skinned with brown eyes displayed a lengthy gray
bread. Bealom and Bojo were clean shaven with a lighter skin tone, fair
with dark blue eyes. All three were in fine health as their bodies did not
fall to the markings of plump noble men even though they adore rich
foods with red wine.
“I don’t know Bojo,” said Advisor Bealom as he walk closer to his
colleagues, away from the onlooking guards. “Th is appears to be folly
and no sound reckoning is behind Lord Saxmous’ decree.”
“That is also my opinion,” spoke a keen Tork. “His belief of
malevolence is unfounded, or lies with the wrong group. These rebels
seem to be dissenting against local laws in their respective kingdoms’
countrysides. Our Lord’s plan should be guided towards the wayward
monsters who roam the lands, butchering villagers and travelers.”
Bealom slanted his eyes towards the guards as one motioned to the
other, as if they were communicating secretly with each other. Bealom
glared towards Bojo and walked slowly to the guards, “Leave us, our
conversation is of private concern.
“Yes Sir,” retorted both guards in grim compliance.
Bojo continue to stare at the guards as they left the room, and then
closed the door behind them. With that he rejoined his colleagues who
were slightly suspicious of the behavior of the guards.
“We must be watchful,” spoke Tork quietly.
“Yes, we have the same opinion,” responded Bealom.
Bojo sat down at the table and pulled out his tileweed pipe. “Why
could these just be simple times,” mumble the nobleman to himself in
great disgust. “Nothing could be more perilous than death grabbing us by
the throat….”
“Why does he need to confer with the other leaders of 4th Lebos on
matters he won’t share with his advisors?” questioned Bealom?
“I was wondering that myself,” spoke Tork as he leaned up against
the wall next to the outside window. A strong wind blew against the
glass as loose rocks crashed against the outer walls interrupting the
discussion. He stared into the busy city of dark buildings of smooth
marble and pointed roof tops. Each building was made the same, the
same windows, the same structural foundations, and the same color—
gray. The buildings displayed strange numerical symbols, probably
from the Nordic Knights of Grace’s written cipher. Th e symbols were
found only in this section of the city. Th e grim advisor wondered
how such mighty creations could so lack originality. His lord’s castle
was in the western section of town where towers occupied most of the
immediate space.
The streets were filled with rollorbots; vehicles for the inhabitants
scurrying on to their daily activities. Th eses vehicles were the
astonishment of psigenic. Th e controller as has the ability to steer it with
the use of physical means, but mental thought as well. Each rollorbot
is design to accumulate four different brain wave patterns. Each time
an individual controller prepares to drive the computer systems in the
rollorbot at once identify the brain wave pattern and allows the person
to control it. If by chance someone enters the vehicle and his or her
brain wave patterns are not stored in the rollorbot’s computer, they
would not be able to drive. Unless the person submits themselves for
an internal scan by the rollorbot’s S.R Mech (Search Reader) and deem
suitable by the original controller’s P.G Tech (Permission Guidance)
they would permitted to control the rollorbot. Also, genic fuel is
liquid base petrol that is made up of a compound that is immersed
with cerebral molecules, in other words molecrains. Molecrains serve
as a conductor for mental energy from the human brain to the engine
of the rollorbot. S.R Mech also transmits the mental pathways directly
into the genic fuel which causes the rollorbot to function as well. Th e
crowed streets that continued to hold the rollorbots were made of dirt;
hard black dirt that provided smooth travel. His mind began to blur
as he was lost in a daydream, gazing at the human puzzle—society. He
shook off his reverie and turned slowly to his colleagues.
“What do you think Bojo?” asked Tork. “He wasn’t happy to hear
your questions.”
“We must wait and gather evidence of fault,” spoke a serious Bojo.
“Our Lord might be in good favor so in the interest of the kingdom we
must investigate under some pretense.
“Agreed,” spoke Bealom.
Tork stared at the ground while fumbling his thumbs, he was
nervous, actually he was afraid. He knew the hatred of his ruler, his
past actions of people he presumed to be his enemies. They all were
killed, imprison, or just went missing. He had a wife and four children,
all rich with wealth and living well above their means. His nose pick
up the scent of pollen, strong pepper as the season of new growth was
upon them. His hands were sweating, he could not hide his fear nor
could his friends. They were scared too. But then he realized they
didn’t have a choice, they were for the people, elected to their positions
of power by the people. His life would mean nothing if he ran back to
his comfort life. His father was a advisor to the past king, as were his
friends. He made his choice; his voice was solid and did not succumb
to weakness.
“Agreed for now,” countered an uneasy Tork.
(all rights reserved ©by K.G. Bethlehem 2009, artwork by Kevin Ray of St. Louis, MO).
KG Bethlehem 