The One Who Would King: A Book Of The Lands by Gareth Blackmore (a.k.a. Dan DeBono)
WHAT THEY’RE SAYING ABOUT : The One Who Would Be King:
"Harry meets L0TR when a kid is pulled into a medieval world filled with danger.”
"You're on to something here!”—Brian Winfrey, screenwriter of W-Disney’s Maid Of Honor
"A refreshingly told tale of fantasy with epic proportions that would make any fan of this genre pleased.” —Mohr Reviews, Midwest Book Review, DreamForge magazine
"Blackmore weaves strong character development with a rich history, spell-binding magic, and non-stop action to create a realm of fantasy that will have you constantly reminding yourself to exhale.” — Christopher Winters, Nevermore Magazine
"... a story that will delight time and time again ... and a must for all ages.” —Loretta Turner, Bookaholics
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2002, 2012 Dan DeBono. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part (except graphics and exerpts may be used for review purposes) without consent of author.
Chapter I: A Princeling On The Run
For the second time in as many days, Djar tasted blood in his mouth.
"Get up,” snarled the thick green lump of a goblin, with an ugly, twisted grin.
Djar tried once more to make the goblin captain understand: "... as I’ve been trying to tell you, I tried to tell him you ordered it, but he simply wouldn’t listen. He said he wouldn’t … couldn’t give up any more of his stock. With summer already waning, he has to prepare for winter. With all due respect, Karn, you may be pushing them to the brink."
The goblin rolled his eyes, which was an eerie sight. They were a shiny yellow, his iris and pupils both very cat-like. He sank back onto what used to be Djar’s father’s throne, the action seemingly adding more girth to his already bulging belly. "Princeling, you are alive for one reason, and one reason only," he said, pausing to wave Daelwoo, the royal scepter of countless generations, mockingly in front of Djar’s nose. "You are to have your people refrain from all forms of civil disobedience with no exceptions or excuses!"
"I will try again next week, Kar ... uh ... Sire."
Karn smiled, revealing a menacing number of sharp, yellow-stained teeth. "You will try immediately."
* * *
"Cookie! Get your suff, we’re getting out of here — now!"
"Oh, Djar," cried a lithe and pretty young woman, wildly springing up from her sitting position on the floor. "He hit you again?"
"Uh, huh," Djar answered, bringing his hand up to his lip to feel the now hardening blood and test the swelling. "But he won’t get another chance. Just get some traveling things packed — and I mean only the bare essentials. I’ll tell you what’s going on after we get to the Durn.”
Cookie was off to her room in a blur, while Djar began stuffing his own essentials into a small red leather bag. Pausing, he ran his fingers over the griffin insignia on the bag’s brass buckle — that of the House of Lahroan. So much had happened so quickly that it still made his head swim. It seemed like only a few days ago — though in fact it had been nearly half a year — that Mahhrain had been overrun by Captain Karn and his goblin horde.
He resumed packing, violently thrusting needed things into his bag. He knew he would be glad to be rid of the life that had been thrust upon him — no matter what the outcome. It was completely draining, always feeling like a gutless little traitor. Of course, the once proud Duke Daeron Lahroan — Djar’s father — would have been proud of him. He would have said that it was better that he served his people in any way possible, as lives would be spared and that was paramount. And that was what mostly kept him going. That, and just a small measure of hope; hope that something would happen to drive the goblins out of the great city.