QSFer Jeremiah Cain has a new MM epic fantasy book out, The Encroaching Chaos book 3 (bi, gay): At the Crossroads of Swords.
Enter a world of magic and war, where empires rise and fall by the clashing of swords. From the dark empire of Tridual, young soldier Adratus must set out to navigate treacherous borders and shifting alliances as he fights to protect his people from the oppressive Holy Dayigan Empire.
But when he falls for a local man, Ubaz, in the Drevite Nation, ruled by powerful druidesses, their love threatens to complicate his mission even further. With tensions rising and enemies closing in, Adratus and Ubaz must fight not only against the Holy Dayigan Empire, but also against their own people’s mistrust and prejudice.
As an ancient power rises from within the Dayigan Empire, threatening to destroy everything in its path, can Adratus and Ubaz unite their people and defeat this unstoppable force before it’s too late? Prepare for an epic tale of love, betrayal, and unbridled power in this dark epic fantasy that will keep you enthralled until the very end.
Warning: Contains adult material including adult activity, harsh language, and violence.
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Excerpt
Their steady sandals struck the gravel like claps of cadenced thunder. The clinking of their black steel, segmented armor was like metallic rain. Through wilderness ripped in twain by their newly constructed road, this army of darkness, composed of six thousand Human legionaries and support, marched on.
The mighty sound vibrated through Adratus as he rode ahorse before them. It reverberated down into the depths of his soul, like rumbling pulses of supremacy.
Even now, Adratus recalled how it felt to be a boy within those ranks, to feel, for the first time, what it was to be part of such a mighty totality. His blood had coursed with fire. He’d felt secure in ways never known before. And proud. So strong.
But no longer a boy, Adratus rode before this juggernaut and outranked the thousands within, second only to the legion commander.
The legion commander, Legate Maximus, was a stern, dark-skinned man of fifty with a hard face and dark eyes. Like that of Adratus, his breastplate was formed to resemble a muscular man’s torso—though his was of black steel over a red tunic, while Adratus’s was silver over black. Centered on the metal chest of both was the infernal symbol, the Triébis, formed as three number twos carved with their bases joined as a triangle—the mark of the Dark Light Gods to whom the Demons bowed.
Adratus gazed past Maximus, off into the virgin forest ablaze with leaves of orange and yellow. It had never known the entrance of men until now—at least not civilized men. Did Faeries roam therein, Adratus wondered, within the thick shadows undefeated by the sun?
For hours, he’d listened to the regular thunder of sandals and hooves on gravel as he’d trekked deeper and deeper into the wilds. Same as yesterday. And the day before. Nearly a month had passed since the proper sound of marching on the stone roads of civilization.
The standard-bearers marched before them, and Adratus proudly watched the flag of his homeland flapping in the autumn wind. The red square of cloth displayed the same symbol as on his chest—the Triébis—in black. Two circles around it. Below it, the words “TRASILON ETERNAL” in grave black print.
He grinned.
“Pray, why do you smirk so, mighty Adratus?” Legate Maximus asked. “Have you beheld humor I noticed not? Share it, and alleviate the boredom of this march.”
“’Tis not in jest I smile, Legate, but in pride. We are not long from our destination, and soon we will introduce a new people to the dark majesty that is our mighty empire.”
“Yes,” Maximus said with a sigh. “Alas, I hold not the same joy in our arrival. Between you and me, Brother, I say damn the Drevites. Let the dirty barbarians fight their own fucking war. And leave us to our own.”
“If I may differ,” Adratus said, “’tis but two fronts of the same war, with the Dayigans the shared foe.”
“Ever the loyalist.” Maximus chuckled. “But I need no reminding of His Imperial Majesty’s words. I beheld the speech alongside you.”
“And yet you forget this new campaign is meant as a reward for victories past. ’Twill be great here, Legate. I know it.”
Maximus chuckled lightly. “I shall not quell delight if delight you have,” he said. He then lifted his hands and raised his voice mockingly, saying, “Let the empire say of me, ‘All hail Maximus, lord of the mudmongers!’” He glanced at Adratus. “But I cannot help but fear our reward may be more of vinegar than wine.”
“Legate!” An urgent call came from up ahead, from two of the legion’s outriders, who approached on galloping horses.
The outrider pulled at his horse’s reins, stopping before the leaders. “Apologies, sir,” he said, calmer, though not calm. He touched his fist to his chest and bowed his head. “I bear distressing news, Legate.”
“Continue.”
“’Tis the Drevites, sir. They are in arms against our engineers, hindering the construction of our road.”
“What numbers?”
“Barely fifty, sir,” said the legionary. “Our advanced forces keep them at bay. Yet we stand uncertain how to engage. You charge us to protect these same people who attack.”
“By all that is infernal,” Maximus cursed as he clenched his fist to his brow. He turned to Adratus. “As I said, more of vinegar.”
“By such words you hexed us, Legate,” Adratus quipped, “and the result is quick.” He motioned to the sky, where, some few feet above the highest trees, five men approached in flight.
They were Terovaes—the race accounting for nearly all the Drevites. And in traditional Drevite fashion, these here were long haired and naked from the waist up. Below, they wore thick belts and kilts of brown leather. Most of their visible skin, head to toe, was marked with thick tribal designs of dark purple ink.
“Are you the one leading this here army?” bellowed a Terovae warrior, his wings like a falcon’s—in brown with touches of white—matching his hair in dreadlocks bound as a sloppy ponytail.
Maximus and Adratus looked up at the source of these words and glanced irritably at one another.
“I’ll be asking you again now,” yelled the Terovae at the front of the flying wedge, “are you the one—”
“I will not address you,” Maximus shouted, “whilst you flutter above me like some pigeon. Alight, so we may talk as men and resolve this unfortunate situation.”
The Terovaes shared momentary glances. Then three, including the one who’d spoken, descended, and landed in front of Maximus and Adratus.
Author Bio
Jeremiah Cain is a dark epic fantasy writer of a vivid world that BookLife Reviews called, “rich with detail and myth-lore that traipses brightly through the darker themes.” He served as an army medic and has a BA in Communication with a minor in English. In addition to reading and writing, he loves video games, particularly RPGs. Connect with him at jeremiahcain.com.
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