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    Against the Tomb Thing: Kem & Kral, #1
    Against the Tomb Thing: Kem & Kral, #1
    Against the Tomb Thing: Kem & Kral, #1
    Ebook86 pages47 minutes

    Against the Tomb Thing: Kem & Kral, #1

    By J.F. King

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    About this ebook

    Kem is a monk on a mission to rescue his brother.

    Kral is a warrior on a mission to retrieve some meaningless scrolls for a fat purse of coins.

    The two men cross paths and find out their mission is the same. But more than the king and the monastery want what both are after. Some want to stop them, some want to acquire those scrolls themselves.

    Assassins and danger are everywhere. In the midst of the chaos, Kem struggles against his feelings for Kral, and the warrior seems determined to push him over the edge.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJ.F. King
    Release dateOct 10, 2017
    ISBN9781386744108
    Against the Tomb Thing: Kem & Kral, #1

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      Book preview

      Against the Tomb Thing - J.F. King

      God is love; not hate nor fear nor division.

      ––––––––CHAPTER 1

      Kem

      The strap whistled through the close air of the cell and cracked across my back.

      Flesh welted.

      I refused to scream.

      The Meditation Block Steward would never live up to his title. Large and vicious, Rovan wielded the strap with relish, raining blow after blow down on my abused skin.

      No, the steward definitely would never be found in better company. Hidden away deep under the monastery, the meditation cells, as they were called, were fashioned in the same mold as any horrid prison cell. Dark, dingy, and damp, the cells' miasma of misery was painted on Rovan's pasty skin. He was a feature of the prison, most likely having forgotten what the sun looked like. Doubly ironic for this being a monastery of the Order of the Sun.

      No royal dinner appearances for Rovan.

      I scowled up at him.

      That earned a strap to the face – right across my left eye and nose.

      I had thought my back hurt. The numbing blow brought instant water flowing from my eyes. Or blood from my nose – I didn't know which.

      Someone cleared their throat.

      It wouldn't be Rovan, he never spoke. He just grunted like the great pig he was.

      The sonorous voice said, Sunnite Kem, do you renounce your sin?

      I wiped at my eyes and rolled to sit against the wall. Whenever the Grand Rector spoke, Rovan went quiescent.

      No beatings while I was being questioned.

      I lifted my chin as much in defiance as to peer through my one eye that wasn't swollen shut. What sin is that?

      The rector was not amused. His face hardened so fast I was certain he'd begin growling and gnashing his teeth. He made a hand motion – a swipe in the air – and said to Rovan, Enough of the castigation. Clean him up and bring him to the Hall.

      I tried to jerk away.

      The big man was fast and caught the hair on the back of my head beneath the cut of tonsure. I had thought my nose hurt. I couldn't get up fast enough from the ripping pain at the back of my head.

      Hauled out of the cell, I bent over and tried to follow the big man's lead with the least amount of resistance.

      In the kitchen, he threw me into the water trough from which he drew drinking water.

      He gave me a slack-jawed look, fingered his garments, and swiped his hand.

      I knew the motion. I removed my loin cloth.

      Wielding a long handle with a sponge, he dipped the end into the soap bucket. It loomed fast into my face and I fell over backward with a splash. The back of my head hit the stone side of the trough and I saw stars. The sponge was worked over my upper body until I was clean.

      My back stung like the fires of the sun.

      He motioned and I stood.

      His eyes dropped down and his usually dim and dumb face took on a dour scowl.

      I half sneered at him before he rammed the sponge onto my manhood and twisted violently.

      The strap I could endure. The hair pullings, sure. Getting hit in the groin, though, almost made me want to confess all the sins they wanted and imagined, right there.

      Give me the parchment, I'll sign in blood.

      I sank to my knees and retched up the water I had consumed for breakfast.

      I was bigger than Rovan down there. I had noticed when he had set my first dinner of mush down outside the cell door and exposed himself to pee in it.

      Big man wasn't so big where it counted.

      He grabbed my hair and yanked, cleaning the rest of me with brutal efficiency.

      I was a Grand Monk, a full brother of the Order of the Sun. Surely I shouldn't be treated this way. I was only a step below the Grand Rector and had been groomed for a monastery of my own.

      I had earned my position. Some things are fair.

      Other things aren't.

      I was thrown a dingy robe far beneath my station. It was no matter, it was only temporary. If I was to be executed, I would be in full regalia – food for the spectacle.

      I wasn't worried about an execution, yet. Though that might happen. Grand Rector Dorn would not want to waste the investment of time it had taken in the discipline and training of a Grand Monk.

      Not if there was a chance he could sway me to his view of things.

      Not a chance, I thought.

      ––––––––CHAPTER 2

      Kral

      I used to sneer. In fact, I recall doing it with hand on sword.

      To everyone.

      These northerners were soft and vulnerable, like a peach weeks past its prime. The armies of the Maral Empire from which I had come would crush the northern kingdoms within a week – if we weren't so busy fighting ourselves.

      But I was banished.

      I decided a scowl fit my mood as I waited in the tavern I was not allowed to frequent.

      Not until I was told.

      A Marallian warrior

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