Sneak Peek - Excerpts from "Of Blood and Honor IV" and update on progress!

[silvershadows]

Greetings everyone,

 

It's been a while since I've been to the forums. In fact, the last time I was here, it was to bring you the second installment in my In the Shadows series of Star Wars novels, Child of Wrath. That was nearly six months ago, and in that time I have been busy working on both the third installment of In the Shadows, and also on the fourth novel in my Mandalorian Of Blood and Honor series.

 

Though it as of yet is still untitled and only bears the working title Of Blood and Honor IV, I've come here today to give you a sneak peek of some parts - short excerpts to whet your appetite for the adventures to come. Please enjoy them, and I hope to finish the novel within the next few weeks - though it may take another couple months if it continues to run away with me!

 

As always, if you'd like to read my older novels, or if you'd like updates and excerpts as they come, feel free to bookmark or subscribe to my DeviantArt page, here. You can also click here to go directly to my stories gallery.

 

In any case, here are a few excerpts from Of Blood and Honor IV!

 

 

The opening scene-

 

Located on the Hutt-controlled moon of Nar Shaddaa, the Nebula Room was the Star Cluster Casino’s premiere hotspot, attracting all sorts of beings from all over the galaxy. A sea of bodies writhed and gyrated to music pumped over massive speakers, the thumping beats pounding a cadence that spilled from the club out into the gaming floors, where it mingled with the sound of whirring slot machines and the occasional triumphant shout from a winner.

 

The doors of the club opened to admit a figure in heavy, jet-black armor. Stepping into the crowd, they seemed to take no notice of the scantily clad men and women surrounding them, the bodies of the dancers moving in time to the music, their skin shimmering under the pulsing lights that flashed and rippled over the dance floor, splashing rainbows of color across their faces.

 

The armored one pushed through, roughly moving aside any people who didn’t get out of the way quickly enough, finally breaking through to the center of the activity, a circular bar lit by green and blue gas-tubes that ringed it from top to bottom. Two female humans and a male Weequay stood behind the bar, filling orders that were shouted at them from a hundred throats. Serving droids wheeled around with a selection of premade drinks for those who didn’t care what they were imbibing, so long as it contained alcohol.

 

There were stools surrounding the bar, and the dark-clad figure moved toward them now, striding forward with purpose. A young girl - a human female with chestnut hair - sat with her back to the crowd of dancers, her face turned to the side, gaze lowered so that she could surreptitiously eye the man seated to her left. He was tall and blond-haired, and he leaned with his back against the bar, watching the crowd with eyes that shone like dark blue jewels.

 

His body was encased in heavy plates of a thick black iron, attached to a skin-tight fibermesh flightsuit that clung to his muscled arms and thighs, leaving little doubt about the sinewy strength of his two-meter tall form. The sharp angles of his handsome face were softened slightly by the patch of blond hair on his chin and the shock of unruly locks that fell forward over his forehead, almost threatening to obscure his vision. His features were marred only by the twin crescent shaped scars that accented his cheekbones, too perfect to be anything but deliberately placed there by his own hand.

 

He shook some of the loose blond strands out of his vision as the other armored figure reached the bar, and a knowing smile curved his lips. Oblivious to anything other than the attractive man at her side, the woman seated next to him continued her ogling, letting out a quiet sigh as she raised a thin glass of some sort of sparkling wine to her lips.

 

Heavy hands encased in thick metal gauntlets reached for the brunette. The glass suddenly flew from her hand as she found herself knocked sideways, tumbling down off the barstool to land in an ungainly heap on the floor. Scrambling to her feet, she placed her hands on her hips, attempting to regain a shred of dignity. “Hey,” she said angrily, “What gives?”

 

Sliding into the now-vacated seat, the black-armored one reached up, fingers clasping at the angular helmet that covered their features, slowly tugging it off. The young woman could see herself reflected in the mirror-like surface of the helmet’s T-shaped visor, could see her clothing stained with spilled wine, her hair tousled and tangled. The helmet lifted free finally, and the brown-haired girl took a step forward, opening her mouth and pointing at the offending seat-stealer, ready to unleash a tirade of insults and curses.

 

The words stuck in her throat as she saw the face of her usurper. The armored one was a woman whose pale skin contrasted starkly with the sea of dark ink that had been tattooed around her eyes like war paint. Those eyes shimmered like emeralds under the lights, glowing with their own inner fire that spoke of vitality and strength. Shortly cropped raven hair curled slightly at the nape of the woman’s neck, and her dark, full lips lifted in a slight smirk. She chuckled softly, speaking in a husky voice that carried perfectly despite the din of the music and dancers.

 

“This seat’s taken.” When it looked as if the other would have protested, her brilliant green eyes narrowed, glinting dangerously from beneath thick, dark lashes. “Ne jurkadir, dala’ika.” It was a softly-issued warning in a tone that would brook no insolence. “Don’t mess with me, little girl.”

 

The sharply flowing vowels of the Mandalorian language seemed to pierce the haze of liquor clouding the brunette’s brain, and she abruptly turned and fled, disappearing into the crowd of dancers. Turning to the man at her side, the armored woman laughed quietly. “I think she might cry.”

 

 

 

Layne remembers the last time he saw his sister-

 

Layne leaned his head back against the pilot’s chair, remembering the sight of Apocalypsa stumbling blindly, her hands clutched to her neck, her helmet knocked askew. She had removed the helmet, thrown it at Raia before falling toward Layne, her legs unwilling to support her armored body.

 

The needle had lain on the floor, its tip glistening in the light, as if a drop of the drug within it seeped out from the end, and Layne had felt his stomach lurch as he caught Apoc in his arms before she hit the floor, her eyes half-lidded and dull. He had pulled her to safety, watching in relief as the doors to the medical bay hissed shut just as Raia had aimed her blaster at the limp, unmoving mercenary.

 

With Apocalypsa down, Layne knew the success of their mission aboard the Incarcerator was in jeopardy. Defending Apoc from dangerous battle droids, the young man had been injured himself, taking a large shard of shrapnel to his upper left thigh. He remembered the pain of it, the burning agony as he had pulled the twisted metal from his own leg, tearing the fabric of his pants to fashion a tourniquet and stop the heavy bleeding.

 

Torian’s arrival had come as a relief to the young ex-commando. The tall Mandalorian grimly assessed the situation, deciding that he would continue alone into the inner ring of the prison ship in search of their objective. Layne had felt a surge of pride when he realized this meant Torian trusted him to guard his cyare, his beloved wife and partner.

 

Remaining with the heavily drugged mercenary, Layne had been both startled and frustrated when his sister ambushed them, falling from the ceiling through the ship’s ventilation system. Raia had drawn her weapon, pointing it at Apoc. Layne hadn’t even thought, he just moved, placing his own body between his sister and the woman who had become his friend and mentor.

 

Staring steadily into Raia’s amber eyes, orbs that burned with anger and hate – hate for Apocalypsa, for Layne himself – the young warrior had felt something inside of him shift. Up until that very moment, he knew, he had been holding on to a tiny glimmer of hope that Raia would forgive him and they would at least part in peace if not on good terms.

 

The cold look in his sister’s eyes had told him with no question that reconciliation was not an option. Raia called him a traitor, and he knew she was right. He had betrayed the Republic, he had betrayed his sister. But Layne was no longer a Republic soldier, no longer a confused boy who saw half-truths everywhere he looked and had lost faith in the very military that he fought for.

 

He was a Mandalorian. He may have betrayed the Republic, but he would never betray his honor. In that moment of realization, his heart hardened, his jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. The woman before him was no longer his sister, no longer the woman who had raised him after the deaths of their parents. She was aru'e, the enemy, and she threatened his aliit, his family, his clan.

 

 

Meeting an old friend-

 

Apocalypsa stood in the billowing sand clouds, watching as the BT-7 Thunderclap they had named Honorbound lifted from the surface of Tatooine. The angular starship gleamed silver and green in the harsh light of the desert planet’s twin suns, and the Mandalorian woman let out a soft sigh as its subspace engines engaged and it vectored toward space, leaving her alone there, amongst the softly rolling landscape of the Jundland Wastes.

 

She glanced around her, watching as heat roiled off the sand, though she barely felt it with her beskar’gam’s environmental controls engaged. The tall, shimmering spires of moisture vaporators rose into the sky in the distance, signaling the presence of some enterprising moisture farmer, no doubt trying to eke out a living selling water to the sun-parched residents of the scorched planet.

 

Torian had said nothing as she instructed Layne to fly her out here, to leave her in the desert, surrounded by nothing but sand. The young ex-commando hadn’t been quite as willing to refrain from asking questions, however, and had practically demanded to know why they were leaving the Shrike in Mos Ila’s run-down spaceport.

 

“I have to see a Jawa about a speeder,” was all she would say, causing Layne to scowl in frustration as he guided the Honorbound down to the desert floor. She could tell he was angry, that he felt left out of the loop, and wanted to know everything. She shook her head as she began to trudge across the sands, scuffing her heavy boots in the coarse, yellow-gold grains. Layne would quickly forget his discontent, as soon as he and Torian met up with Corridan Ordo and got into the thick of the war against the Galactic Republic.

 

Scanning the brightly lit horizon through the shade of her visor, Apoc squinted against the intrusive glare of the double suns Tatooine lazily orbited. There, in the distance, surrounded by clouds of dust and sand, an immense sandcrawler moved ponderously across the desert landscape. With a quiet sigh, the Mandalorian warrior picked up her pace, heading toward the blocky vehicle.

 

It seemed to her that it took forever to cross the sands, but after a while the sandcrawler filled her vision as it rolled across the ground, and when it creaked to a stop before her, she gave a low chuckle, watching as its ramp slowly lowered. A troupe of Jawas fairly boiled out of the cavernous crawler, their coarse brown robes tattered and torn, jabbering to each other in their shapeless language.

 

They surrounded her, and she found herself being jostled, practically carried toward the sandcrawler as they tugged at her armor. “Hey now,” she said, a hint of frustration in her husky tone, “Watch the beskar.” She shooed them away with her gauntleted hands.

 

“Boss!” The squeaky voice from the mouth of the crawler caused a grin to break out over Apoc’s face, and she reached up to tug her helmet off. The Jawa that stood before her looked just like the others, aside from the elaborate bandoleer he wore, an item she would have recognized in her sleep.

 

“Blizz!” She laughed when he came forward, throwing his little arms around her legs in a vise-like hug. “It’s great to see you.”

 

 

And an old enemy-

 

Layne walked behind Torian, letting the taller Mandalorian take the lead as their heavy boots crunched across the debris-littered pavement. The street they crossed was cracked and buckled in several areas, evidence of recent artillery strikes that had cratered the ground, leaving pits like scars dotting across the city.

 

They were headed toward the duracrete walls of an abandoned hotel, a three floor, square-shaped building that Corridan Ordo had appropriated as the headquarters for the Mandalorian commandos he had brought to augment the forces of the Sith Empire, who were currently embroiled in a vicious ground campaign against the Galactic Republic.

 

Toppled, broken-down walkers served as makeshift barricades in front of the hotel, and though the night air was quiet, several armored men lounged behind them, their deceptively casual stances belying the fact that they were hardened, battle-ready soldiers. Layne smiled slightly underneath his helmet as he noted that the bored-looking men had already tracked their weapons toward the two newcomers.

 

“Tion’cuy?” The challenge was issued in a booming voice by the man closest to the break in the barricade that Torian and Layne approached. He was shorter than the younger Mandalorian, though heavily set beneath his beskar’gam, which had been painted black, and trimmed with a bright, shining orange.

 

Torian’s right hand came up. “Torian.” He gestured at Layne, who stood at his side. “Layne. Clan Cadera.” The blond man’s fingers brushed against the green-painted mythosaur skull on the chest of his shimmering silver armor. “Corridan called us in.”

 

The squat Mandalorian grunted. “I’m Novin Ordo.” He pointed over toward the other armored man who guarded the entrance to the hotel. “Jogo Lok.”

 

Layne was suddenly aware of a shift in Torian’s stance, a stiffening of the taller mans spine as he looked over at the red and blue clad Jogo, lanky even in his armor, leaning against the barricade in an almost insolently casual way. The young warrior regarded him with interest, recognizing the man’s clan name as that of Mand’alor the Vindicated’s own.

 

“Su cuy’gar, Jogo.” Torian’s normally soft voice was hard, sharper than the hidden vibroblade in his gauntlet.

 

For a long moment, Jogo remained silent, staring at Torian with eyes hidden behind the darkness of his visor. When he did speak, it was with a voice dripping with undisguised disdain. “Where’s your wife, arue’tal?” A low, soft chuckle. “Figure out you’re a nibral? Leave you for a real Mando?”

 

Layne felt a shock run through his body. Jogo’s words - Mando'a for "traitor’s blood" and "loser," turned the hot excitement in his veins to ice water. Torian said nothing, though his fists clenched at his sides, and Layne could imagine the dark look on the taller Mandalorian’s face beneath the silver and green helmet.

 

Unable to provoke Torian into aggression, Jogo made a sound of contempt and turned, stalking his way into the building. Novin Ordo, in contrast, chuckled softly and reached out his large hand, clapping Torian on the shoulder. “Jogo’s blood runs hot, eh burc’ya?” He reached for the comlink clipped to his belt. “I’ll tell the alor’ad you’re here.”

 

 

In a dusty Tatooine cantina-

 

“This is Derrick Gael,” Caine glanced sidelong at Apoc. “He’s the man we’re here to see.” Turning toward the other man, the assassin frowned. “I told you on the holo, I needed to talk to you about our little transaction last week.”

 

Gael finally seemed to realize Apoc was there, and she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes as he looked at her, and the corner of his lip quirked upward in a half-smile that was anything but friendly. “What about it?” He lifted his hand, stroked his chin.

 

Apoc was suddenly aware of movement, a flash behind her as the Rodian rose to his feet, a blaster pistol in his long-fingered hand. He pointed the weapon at the Mandalorian’s back, while at his side, his human partner did the same to Caine. Inwardly, she chuckled, even as the other cantina occupants rose from their tables, weapons drawn.

 

The sight of so many blasters pointed in his direction caused a slight sheen of sweat to break out over Kaiden’s face. “Hey now,” he complained, “We just came in here for a friendly chat. There’s no need for this to get violent.” He held his hands up in the air before him.

 

Apocalypsa, in contrast, folded her arms over her chest. The contemptuous movement drew Gael’s attention, and he sneered at her. “You’re the Mandalorian,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Apocalypsa. Shoulda known better than to send that Weequay, but all he wanted was a few credits and a ticket off Tatooine. Small price to pay for the murder of one of the galaxy’s most infamous bounty hunters.”

 

That he so blatantly admitted to trying to have her killed surprised Apoc for a moment, until she realized that the man’s bluster was all fake, aided by the multiple blasters pointed in her direction and the five-to-one odds. He figures I’m dead anyway, so why not talk big in front of his men, play himself up to earn their respect by talking down to the big, bad Mandalorian.

 

“Your hired thug failed.” She glanced around the room at the gang members surrounding her, and shrugged her shoulders casually. “No surprise, considering the company you keep.”

 

“That’s big talk from a woman at the wrong end of a bunch of blasters.”

 

“I think we’re getting off on the wrong foot here.” Caine’s nervous chuckle made Apoc roll her eyes.

 

“Shut up, Caine.” Gael took a step toward Apocalypsa, who slowly uncrossed her arms, lowering her hands to her sides. “I knew you were here, but I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to walk right into my arms.”

 

“You think you can take me?” Apoc’s hands moved quicker than Gael’s eyes could follow, drawing her twin blaster pistols, bringing them up and in line to fire. “You’re welcome to try.”

 

 

Layne vs Jogo-

 

Layne held his helmet in his gloved hands, staring down at it thoughtfully as he stepped out of the run-down hotel into the hazy morning air. Wisps of fog rose from the shattered streets and obscured his vision of what lay beyond the fortified barricades that blocked the roadway, fifty meters distant. Armored figures moved in and out of the shrouding mists, perimeter guards watching for any sign of attack or infiltration.

 

They had been on Cress for three days now, and the young Mandalorian had taken part in a few routine patrols, working with Corridan’s men to scout for possible Republic activity. All had been quiet, but there was a mounting tension in the air this morning, like electricity building within thunderous clouds, and indeed Layne cast his gaze to the grey-cloaked sky, and wondered whether a storm was brewing, or if there was something else, something more sinister that was coming.

 

The crunching of heavy boots across the pavement caused him to turn, and he scowled as he saw himself reflected in the visor of Jogo Lok’s red and blue helmet. “Daydreaming already, Cadera?” The older Mandalorian’s voice was full of contempt. “Lot of good you’d be, if there was an attack.”

 

Layne felt his cheeks burning, and clenched the helmet he held tightly in his fingers. He didn’t know what Jogo’s problem was, but he knew that the belligerent man’s attitude was getting really old, really fast. “If you’re looking to pick a fight, look somewhere else.”

 

Jogo chuckled quietly. “I expected as much from ex-Republic military.” He leaned casually, insolently, against one of the ferrocrete barriers blocking the blast-treated doorway. “You fit right in with the rest of your clan.”

 

Layne frowned. He honestly didn’t have the first clue what Jogo was talking about. His puzzlement must have been apparent on his features, because the dark-haired Mandalorian laughed again, a mocking sound that made Layne grit his teeth in annoyance.

 

“What better place for you than with a bunch of traitors?”

 

Layne’s anger exploded. “Apoc and Torian aren’t traitors!” He tossed the helmet to the ground, reaching out with his gloved hands, pushing them into Jogo’s chest, shoving the other man back a few steps. “And neither am I, you stuck up son of a Hutt!”

 

Jogo dropped into a crouch, throwing himself forward and wrapping his arms around Layne’s waist, bearing the young warrior’s body to the ground. Not willing to be defeated, Layne twisted and scrambled away, aiming a well-placed kick with his booted foot at his opponent’s helmet. As Jogo fell away, Layne scrambled to his feet, drawing his blaster and pointing it down toward the other Mandalorian.

 

“Nayc!” Torian’s voice dissipated the haze of anger filling Layne’s sight, and he blinked several times as the tall man came from the hotel’s entryway toward him, his sapphire eyes clouded and stormy. “Put it away, Layne.”

 

Jogo rose to his feet, pulling his helmet off and spitting Torian with his gaze. “You should have better control of your pets, arue’tal.”

 

 

Apoc is confronted by her past-

 

Apoc's hand clenched into a fist as the memory faded, and she drew a deep breath, feeling a chill run down her spine beneath the protective layer of armor. Turning, she couldn't help but frown as she noticed Kaiden, standing in the doorway to the Shrike's small lounge, smirking at her with that infuriatingly arrogant expression on his face.

 

"Something wrong, love?" He raised an eyebrow when she offered no response. "Really, Apoc. You've spent the past three days attempting to say as little as possible to me. We're about to go on a mission together. Don't you think it's best if we're not at odds?"

 

He stepped out of the doorway, coming to stand in front of her. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of his closeness, of the scent of the dark leather he wore. She felt another surge of anger, this one directed at herself for her weakness, her lack of control. In Caines presence, she felt disjointed, uneasy.

 

She had thought all her old feelings and memories of their time together had been long buried, but confronted with the reality of her situation, she had to admit that it had all come back like a swift punch to the gut, leaving her confused and breathless.

 

It didn't help her at all that she was separated from Torian, from the one person who understood her better than she did herself. Without him, it almost felt as if a big chunk of her had been ripped out, leaving a gaping wound that ached and throbbed, adding to the pain of Caines old betrayal. For so long now, Torian had been there to keep her steady, to be her compass on their journey, never letting her stray from the path of honor she walked.

 

And now, here before her, was a man who was the exact opposite of everything Torian stood for, a man who slunk in the shadows and used guile and trickery rather than skill and tenacity to take out his targets. And yet, she had loved him once, too - perhaps not the same all-consuming need she felt for Torian - but loved him nonetheless.

 

He was going to reach for her, she could tell, and so she spun away, turning on her heel and marching toward the ramp that lead toward the bridge. Barely trusting herself to speak, she ground out her response from between clenched teeth. "I don't know what to think, Kaiden." Her hand closed around the railing. "Why are you here?"

 

"I told you - I made a mistake." She heard him stepping toward her, his voice growing louder even as it grew softer. "I'm here to make it up to you. Honest."

 

She didn't turn, stiffening slightly at his choice of words. "Honest?" She scoffed. "That's something you've never been."

 

"No," he said quietly, from just behind her now. "I never lied to you. I've lied to everyone else in my life, Apoc darling, even to myself, but never to you." He sounded genuinely pained. "You don't understand. I did what I did because I had to do it, not because I wanted to hurt you."

 

"Right. You stole my half of a bounty and murdered a family because you had to." She turned on him, her hands reaching out to push him back a few steps. "You just had no choice but to leave me there, waiting for him to come, lurking in that spice-den for hours only to find out you had already slaughtered the man and his wife and even his children." Her voice rose in both pitch and volume. "You're right, you had no choice, because you're a rotten bastard, and that's just what they do."

 

His demeanor changed almost immediately. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, and he heaved a sigh as a few strands of his void-black hair fell forward over his face. He looked so utterly defeated that it almost shocked her, and when he finally spoke again, she thought she heard a tremor in the clipped, accented words.

 

 

 

 

Hope you enjoyed the preview, and look forward to the finished work coming soon!

Edited September 11, 2013 by silvershadows