Sometimes, in the middle of all this work, it’s easy to forget how I got to where I am today. What books, what early efforts, helped pave the way to the writer I am today.

So, with that in mind, I decided to pay a visit to The Wounded King, the first in The Martuk Series, an ongoing collection of short fiction inspired by, and based on, Martuk … the Holy. And wouldn’t you know it? It’s a damn good book!

Here’s a small taste:

They were dying.

First, my father, the First King, tongue swollen, his words thick, his body scarred and wounded.

Now my brother, the King, bloodied, beaten and blind, half-buried in a mountain of stained silk.

And I, the Almost King, walking this familiar maze of shadows with my quiet guilt, the cavernous halls aglow in torchlight as I turned and then turned again, losing myself in the echo of my footsteps.

Yes, much like they swallowed the sun, the Dark Gods were gobbling my family up, bite by bite.

And together, she and I, we were helping them.

My stomach lurched and heaved, the rancid taste of vomit on my tongue and in my throat as I swallowed.

And then swallowed again.