RELEASE DATE: 01 April 2020
No one survives Dark Dale. But when the demons summon, she goes—with her swords, and daggers, and iron-capped boots.
The compromise to her independence chafes. But the pay? Worth it.
And they better pay. Or she’ll make them rue the day they called her.
For readers who are practical, well-armed, and ready for any challenge—or who wish they were.
Welcome to Dark Dale
The sign was broken. fragments lay on the ground, splintered and splattered with blood. What remained of the rotting stump in the ground was charred and gnawed on; teethed on, I corrected myself. There was still a tooth sticking out of the wood.
Marzrels went through several sets of teeth as babies—larvae? They were carnivorous worms and I’d never stopped to ask one what it called its young. Dinner maybe. But probably breakfast. Just another joy of Dark Dale.
A shadow caught my eye: a small, yellow scorpion no bigger than my thumb, darting away. I stepped on it.
Those I occasionally called friends laughed at my odd footwear. They told me on numerous drunken occasions that I’d do better to leave the iron out of my boots and run faster. As I lifted my foot and used a second dagger to dig out the still-wriggling arachnid, I yet again disagreed with them.
I killed the wriggler and left the body in the dust. One didn’t survive the Dale by being kind and loving.
Of course, I’d never asked anyone else about surviving the Dale; as far as I knew, I was the only one who could make the claim. Horrific death was about as native to the Dale as marzrels.
I sauntered toward my destination, a nondescript rock of little intrinsic value, slashing at bushes and stabbing at shadows. The bushes burned and the sand crackled under the loving brush of my sword of fire.
Most people liked to collect mementos of their adventures. The average sword-for-hire collected gold; others took bones, teeth, ears, treasure, whatever caught their fancy. A fair number in this region collected skulls.
I collected swords. The swords of slain heroes, and I’d killed every one. And because I knew the weapon I carried had already failed one protagonist, I also carried daggers.
At the rock, I paused and growled. This was the part of visiting the Dale that I didn’t like.
“I am she that is summoned. I am she that answers.” I recited the chant from memory, paying minimal attention as the rock steamed and smoked. The smoke coalesced and formed into an ashen-skinned demon with glowing silver eyes.
“Took you long enough didn’t it?” the creature demanded petulantly. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?”