The Nameless Soldier by Annie Douglass Lima

Posted on June 6, 2018 by Chris

Annie Douglass Lima returns to the Dragon’s Lair to talk about her new book The Nameless Soldier.

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The Nameless Soldier is book 4 in the Annals of Alasia young adult fantasy series. Haven’t read all (or any) of the others? That’s okay! The books can be read in any order, and each one can stand on its own.

Description:

What do you do when you’re the only survivor?

Nineteen-year-old Tarvic bears the name of a mighty hero from Alasia’s past. However, the young soldier feels anything but heroic when he regains consciousness to find himself the lone survivor of a brutal attack by invaders from the neighboring kingdom.

Forced to leave his identity behind, Tarvic is thrust into civilian life in the role of protector to three war orphans. When the four of them encounter a mysterious stranger, he must choose between keeping the young girls safe and taking on a mission that could help free his kingdom. Can Tarvic live up to his noble name and find a way to balance his duty and his dreams?

Where to Get a Copy:

Not sure if you’ll like the story or not? Take a look at the first chapter and see!

The Nameless Soldier

Chapter One

Tarvic woke to the sound of a distant yell, abruptly silenced. He pushed his blankets aside and sat up, puzzled, but heard only the light patter of rain on the canvas. “What was that?”

Drevel, his roommate in the barracks and tentmate out on campaigns like this, stirred and rolled over. “What?”

“I heard something. Someone shouting.”

“It’s probably just another drill.” But Drevel sat up too, shoving his own blankets away, as Tarvic crawled over and untied the tent flap.

A blast of wintry air and raindrops greeted him as he leaned out, peering across the tent-studded hillside. Clouds hid the moon and stars, and on every side the thick dark of the forest leaned in from the edges of the large clearing. But the telltale flickering light of distant torches sent shadows leaping over tents and across the open spaces between them. Why would someone be using torches out here? Any soldier in camp had easy access to lanterns among the supplies.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Tarvic pulled back into the tent and yanked on his breeches and jacket.

They both heard the next yell, closer this time, and then the unmistakable clash of swords. Both men snatched up their own swords, jamming their feet into their boots and fumbling for shields. From all around them, shouts of alarm erupted as men in their company woke up.

And then the enemy was upon them. Horses exploded through the camp, trampling tents and the soldiers just crawling out of them. Riders leaned low off their mounts’ backs, swinging swords and waving torches.

Halfway out of his tent, Tarvic threw himself flat on his face to avoid a slash that would probably have decapitated him. He scrambled to his feet, only to be knocked off them again by a blow that he barely caught on his shield.

Light, shadows, horses, blades, rain. Chaos raged through the clearing to the sound of crashing metal, pounding hooves, shouts of challenge and desperation. Tarvic regained his feet and fought as best he could from the ground while enemy riders thundered around him. Dodging and ducking, he aimed for the men’s legs and tried to keep out from under their horses’ hooves. With no idea who he was fighting or why, his only goal to stay alive for the next heartbeat, he dodged and darted through the tumult looking for spots where horses and enemy swords weren’t. All around him, men fought and ran and crumpled to lie as limply as the trampled tents.

Slipping and stumbling in the mud, Tarvic felt a surge of satisfaction as his sword met flesh and an enemy yelled in pain. And then the man wheeled his horse and charged back toward him, and Tarvic turned to flee.

He tripped on something soft that groaned. Pain shot through Tarvic’s wrist as he caught his fall, and only a quick roll saved him from being trampled as the man’s horse cantered over him.

Its rider wheeled again, and Tarvic rose to his knees, barely raising his shield in time to protect his face. The force of the blow threw him backward, jarring his already sore wrist.

Another horse leaped over him, and Tarvic cried out in pain as a hoof struck him on the shoulder. He stumbled to his feet, ducking low to present as small a target as possible, and ran through the melee.

He saw fewer people on foot now, more obstacles in the mud. Was it cowardly to flee from a battle you couldn’t win? Nothing in Tarvic’s eight months in the military had prepared him for this. Not counting occasional minor border skirmishes, the kingdom of Alasia hadn’t seen an actual war in six generations. Besides routine patrols, city peacekeeping, and the frequent drills and training, the military’s primary duties involved escorting merchant wagons through robber-frequented stretches of rural highway and keeping an eye on the sections of coastline where seafaring raiders were known to attack. Tarvic had never fought in a battle that involved more than a handful of opponents at a time, and none of those opponents had been anywhere near this organized — or this deadly.

If we escape, we can regroup somewhere safer and — A hard blow to the back knocked him to the ground again as another horse pounded over him. Giving up all pretense of courage, Tarvic scrambled to his feet once more and fled for the edge of the clearing and the relative safety of the trees beyond. I can’t do anything here. They’re going to slaughter us all!

He was practically there when another rider appeared in front of him, leaning low with sword outstretched. Tarvic almost impaled himself on the blade, raising his shield just in time. He fought back frantically as the man slashed, swinging his weapon again and again. I need my horse! Military training had included nothing about how to fight a mounted enemy from the ground. But Lightning was tethered in the row of makeshift stalls on the far side of the camp, probably prancing restlessly under his blanket and wondering why his rider didn’t come to spur him into battle.

Tarvic didn’t even see the blow that almost killed him. His ears barely registered the thudding of more galloping hooves from behind, nearly drowned out by the rain and the sounds of battle. But the world exploded in light and pain as something struck the back of his head harder than anything had ever hit him before.

He lurched forward, feeling his sword drop from limp fingers. Managing two steps before his legs buckled, he was just conscious enough to recognize the urgent need to crawl. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Or they’ll kill you out here. That was the only thought left in his mind as he pulled himself toward the concealing shadows behind the line of tree trunks. And then even that faded, giving way to darkness.

Want to know what happens to Tarvic? Click here to purchase the book and find out!

About the Author:

Annie Douglass Lima spent most of her childhood in Kenya and later graduated from Biola University in Southern California. She and her husband Floyd currently live in Taiwan, where she teaches fifth grade at Morrison Academy. She has been writing poetry, short stories, and novels since her childhood, and to date has published seventeen books (four YA action and adventure novels, five fantasies, a puppet script, six anthologies of her students’ poetry, and a Bible verse coloring and activity book). Besides writing, her hobbies include reading (especially fantasy and science fiction), scrapbooking, and international travel.

Email: AnnieDouglassLima@gmail.com

Blog: http://anniedouglasslima.blogspot.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AnnieDouglassLimaAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/princeofalasia

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/ADLimaOnGoodreads

Google+: http://bit.ly/ADLimaOnGooglePlus

Amazon Author Page: http://bit.ly/AnnieDouglassLimaOnAmazon

LinkedIn: http://bit.ly/ADLimaOnLinkedIn

Annie Douglass Lima Visits the Lair

Posted on May 11, 2016 by Chris

Annie Douglass Lima stopped by the lair for a visit to talk about her new book.

I’m excited to announce that my young adult action and adventure novel, The Gladiator and the Guard, is now available for purchase! This is the second book in the Krillonian Chronicles, sequel to The Collar and the Cavvarach.
First Things First: a Little Information about Book 1:

Bensin, a teenage slave and martial artist, is desperate to see his little sister freed. But only victory in the Krillonian Empire’s most prestigious tournament will allow him to secretly arrange for Ellie’s escape. Dangerous people are closing in on her, however, and Bensin is running out of time. With his one hope fading quickly away, how can Bensin save Ellie from a life of slavery and abuse?

What is the Collar for, and What is a Cavvarach?
The story is set in a world very much like our own, with just a few major differences. One is that slavery is legal there. Slaves must wear metal collars that lock around their neck, making their enslaved status obvious to everyone. Any slave attempting to escape faces the dilemma of how and where to illegally get their collar removed (a crime punishable by enslavement for the remover).
Another difference is the popularity of a martial art called cavvara shil. It is fought with a cavvarach (rhymes with “have a rack”), a weapon similar to a sword but with a steel hook protruding from partway down its top edge. Competitors can strike at each other with their feet as well as with the blades. You win in one of two ways: disarming your opponent (hooking or knocking their cavvarach out of their hands) or pinning their shoulders to the mat for five seconds.

Excerpt:

“Here comes your brother.”

Ellie opened her eyes as Bensin jogged out of the dimness of the Competitors’ Cave. From across the arena floor, a burly Yellow gladiator was running to meet him.

Ellie reached for Steene’s hand again as the two warriors met with a clash of cavvarachs. “He looks different,” Steene observed as the camera zoomed in close. Bensin’s face didn’t hold the fear it had last time. Steene knew him well enough that he could still detect some in his eyes, but it was much better hidden. In its place was simply a grim determination.

“He looks braver,” Ellie agreed. “I guess he’s learning to be a better gladiator.”

I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing or not. But Steene chided himself for the thought. Of course it was a good thing. Bensin needed to get better, to learn and grow and change and do whatever it took to stay alive in that horrible place.

But what’s it doing to the Bensin we knew? If they ever met him again, Steene was sure Bensin would be a different person. Tougher, definitely. Calloused and unfeeling, though, perhaps. Steene supposed you had to be that way to survive as a warrior.

So yes, the change was a good thing, or at least a necessary one. But as he watched Bensin lash out at his opponent again and again, aim kick after kick, dodge and parry his blows, Steene wondered what the change was doing to him inside. Did he still have a sense of humor? Could he relax and be himself when he wasn’t fighting? Did he joke and laugh with his friends? Did he even have friends at Red Arena? Or was he learning to be cold and hard inside and out, doing only what he had to do to survive?

Watching the young man who should have been his son fighting for his life out there, Steene scowled at the helmeted guards hovering nearby and the audience yelling from the stands and the whole arena system. It’s not right, what they’re doing to him. It’s not fair.

I want Bensin back. The thought stabbed through Steene more strongly than it ever had before. His throat tightened, and he swallowed and cleared it angrily. I want him back, and I’m going to find a way to get him back, whatever it takes.

Interview with Gile Murton

I meet with Gile in the employee lounge of Red Arena, the biggest martial arts stadium in the city of Jarreon. He is wearing a scarlet polo shirt with the words Red Arena emblazoned across the front. Around his neck, a small black tube hangs from a cord, and he is wearing a long, straight whip strapped around one wrist. He looks impatient and slightly irritated.

“Thanks for being willing to meet with me,” I say as we sit down.

“Sure, but let’s make this quick. I’ve got work to do, and the arena won’t run itself.”

I take out my list of questions. “Could you start by telling my readers about your job?”

“All right. I’m the manager here at Red Arena, which, as you may know, has a reputation for being the best in the city. I’m in charge of acquiring new gladiators, and I oversee our personnel: the trainers, assistant trainers, guards, and our enslaved workers, as well as the glads themselves. I work with Riddior, the training manager, to create the plans and schedules for our weekend games.”

“You mentioned acquiring new gladiators. What do you look for in a potential gladiator?”

“He’s got to be not only strong, but tough. Adaptable, able to be pushed hard, able to handle the pressures of arena life. And he needs to already be a fighter. We can train him, of course, and we do, but if he doesn’t start out proficient in at least one martial art, it isn’t usually worth our time. Oh, and it helps if he’s the angry and violent sort. That’s the trouble with buying slaves: a lot of them are so pathetically meek and subservient, they’d never survive a day in the arena even if they’ve got the physical skills. If they’re belligerent or bitter or I see them talking back to their owners, that’s a good sign.”

“So do most of your gladiators start out as slaves?”

“Most of them, yes, in one way or another. We’re not opposed to hiring free men, but it’s pretty rare that anyone would actually choose a life as a gladiator. Of course, we pay very generously in advance, so every now and then someone desperate to pay off their family’s debts or some such thing will sign on with us. But it’s a lifelong commitment, and they can’t ever leave the arena once they’ve joined, so you can imagine it’s not a very popular option. No, our glads tend to start out as enslaved athletes who’ve been competing professionally to earn money for their owners. Or, they were free people who broke the law. As I’m sure you know, the penalty for certain crimes is enslavement. Few owners are comfortable purchasing a new slave who’s just been convicted of armed robbery or assault, so in those cases, the arena is the perfect solution for everyone. Violent offenders do tend to make good gladiators.”

“Next question,” I say. “Would you call yourself a good man, or at least a law-abiding citizen?”

He stares at me. “What in the world does that have to do with anything?”

“I think my readers might be interested to know, that’s all. I’m trying to help them get a picture of who you are.”

Gile scowls in annoyance. “On a personal level, yes, I keep the law. Here at the arena, of course there are certain laws that just don’t work, but since the authorities know and choose to turn their backs, I wouldn’t consider anything we do to be unethical.”

“Could you explain what you mean by that?”

“Well, there’s the law that says slaves have to wear a steel collar round their necks at all times for identification. Neither our gladiators nor our regular enslaved workers wear collars. It would be too dangerous for the glads in combat, and they could get snagged on the workout equipment. And we don’t want our glads grabbing the kitchen crew by the collar, for example, and strangling them when they’re in a bad mood. But considering that none of our slaves ever leave the arena, it doesn’t really matter. Then there’s the law that says owners have to give their slaves a day off every week, but that just doesn’t fit with our exercise and training schedules. The other major area the authorities choose not to look closely at is our use of illegal weapons and substances.” He indicates the whip strapped to his wrist. “Shockwhips are technically against the law, but we’ve found them an extremely effective way to control glads. Regular whips just aren’t enough to stop an angry gladiator. Imagine dealing with powerful and vicious wild beasts, and you’ll have some idea of the dangers our staff face every day.” He taps the tube hanging from his neck. “Dartblowers are illegal, too. Once a dart pierces a person’s skin, it releases a chemical that causes them to lose control of most voluntary muscles for about five minutes. I can’t tell you how many times dartblowers have saved guards’ lives. We couldn’t manage without them.”

Some Psychological Reasons for Erectile Dysfunction in General Include: Stress that is related to sex and or other related issues then it is the time to take them off. order generic viagra Here are four damages that men should pay attention to. 1.long-term epididymal cyst can viagra on line lead to a series of metabolic disorder syndrome such as sugars, meats, grains, milk, alcohol, and unhealthy fats. How To Prevent Chronic buy viagra tabs Fatigue Syndrome? Reduce stress. Since it is an inexpensive drug and just as effective as the name brand version patients will viagra generic india no longer need to worry about their erectile problems with any of their partners. “So why don’t the authorities crack down on the arena for breaking all those laws?” I wonder.

Gile smiles humorlessly. “They’d be stupid to do that. The arena games bring more tourists to Jarreon than any other event in the city. They’re smart enough not to want to jeopardize all that tourism income. Besides, we pay taxes on all the money we make, and that’s a hefty sum too. Shutting down the arenas would strike a major blow to the city’s economy.” He pulls a phone out of his pocket and checks the time. “Do you have any more questions, or is that all?”

“One last question. Could you tell my readers about your family? Do you have a wife, kids? And if so, what do they think of what you do for a living?”

Gile looks annoyed again. “I don’t see how that’s any of your readers’ business, but yes, I have a wife. I don’t care for children, so we’ve chosen not to have any. My wife knows what I do, but she never asks for details about my day, and I prefer not to discuss my job when I’m at home anyway. She doesn’t like that I work such long hours or that I have to work every weekend, but there’s no way around that in this business. The weekends are when we have our games, after all. And I make enough money that she has nothing to complain about.”

Gile rises to his feet. “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to excuse me now. I’ve taken enough time for this already. I have things to do.” Before I can even thank him, he strides out of the room.

Click here to order The Collar and the Cavvarach from Amazon

for $2.99 a discounted price of just 99 cents through May 30th!

Bensin, a teenage slave and martial artist, is just one victory away from freedom. But after he is accused of a crime he didn’t commit, he is condemned to the violent life and early death of a gladiator. While his loved ones seek desperately for a way to rescue him, Bensin struggles to stay alive and forge an identity in an environment designed to strip it from him. When he infuriates the authorities with his choices, he knows he is running out of time. Can he stand against the cruelty of the arena system and seize his freedom before that system crushes him?

Click here to order The Gladiator and the Guard in Kindle format from Amazon

for $2.99 a discounted price of just 99 cents through April 28th!

Click here to order The Gladiator and the Guard from Smashwords (for Nook or in other digital formats)

for $2.99 a discounted price of just 99 cents through April 28th!

Annie Douglass Lima spent most of her childhood in Kenya and later graduated from Biola University in Southern California. She and her husband Floyd currently live in Taiwan, where she teaches fifth grade at Morrison Academy. She has been writing poetry, short stories, and novels since her childhood, and to date has published twelve books (two YA action and adventure novels, four fantasies, a puppet script, and five anthologies of her students’ poetry). Besides writing, her hobbies include reading (especially fantasy and science fiction), scrapbooking, and international travel.