"Am I dead?" The body asked.

"Not yet," Old God answered.

Bright Morn


of Issareth

 Volume I

The Arrival

A New Web-novel     in 60 Chapters


Below is the first chapter in my new web-novel that will span more than one volume. Please note (if you're not familiar with web-novels) chapters in this format are usually shorter (anywhere from 700 to 1200 words). This varies, of course, but that seems to be the numbers that are done quite often at present. 

If you like what you read click on the "Tapas" link above. You can read the novel for free. The first 8 episodes were uploaded for reading and then one a day is posted after that. Please subscribe and then you'll be able to give a "like" by clicking on the heart at the bottom of an episode or even leave a comment or two (please be kind.)

Chapter 1

At first, he thought he had fouled himself. People did that when they died; he had seen it many times. Was he dead? No, no he was sitting in a pool of blood. He wasn't surprised it was his blood. He could taste it as it flowed to the corner of his mouth from the slice across his hairline. More dripped off his forelock down his face to join red puddles from his other wounds. He blinked the blood away to see the bodies around him and out in the street.

For some reason, his sword was in his left hand. The tiny etched silver and gold birds with entwined vines along its fuller were stained with more blood. Why was it in his left hand when he usually fought with his right? Oh, yes, that arm was broken; he tried to set and bind it with sticks two days ago.

"Am I dead?" he asked himself. He was sure he wasn't but... everything was disconnected, muffled, far away. He could feel his heart beating much too quickly, counter to his breath which was too soft and shallow. He closed his eyes trying to sense what was around him but was too weak to reach far. He thought for a moment he felt something or someone, a soft slide of silk in the night, but it was gone immediately.

He heard a carriage approach. Maybe he should try to get its attention? It was hard to move, he couldn't lift his good arm. Maybe they'd stop. No, they wouldn't. No one in their right mind would stop when they saw this carnage. He felt something pushing out from the carriage, probing. His push back was weak. He let his remaining breath dribble out in a long sigh as he slid down the wall supporting him. The light from the street-lanterns danced in the night breeze. Here was as good a place to die as any.

A shadow fell across him, then the face of an old man with a quizzical expression filled his blurring vision.

"Am I dead," he asked.

"Not yet." The old man answered.

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