“Good, good. I'll teach you the trick of it, and how to link up for shielding, too. Designed that one myself, of course.” Artemis nodded, eyes focused on something distant. “You do have them locked up, don't you?”
Julianne nodded. She, Bastian and Danil had locked the rogue mystics in the barn and sent Bette and Garrett to stay with Annie and Lilly until the problem was sorted. Until the spell was broken and the victims sorted from the perpetrators, Julianne didn't want anyone around who didn't have a rock-solid shield.
Reflexively, she checked Marcus. So far, his shields had held. One day, she’d get to the bottom of that. “Three days. You think you'll be ok that long, soldier?”
Marcus smiled. “As long as I have you by my side.”
Julianne reached under the table and took his hand. “Three days. Then we start it all again. You sure you want to stick around for this?”
He winked. “Someone’s gotta keep you outta trouble. Or help you get into it.”
FINIS
Like book one? Find the entire series here:
Here are series links to make things easy on you:
Restriction: Click Here
Storm Raiders: Click Here
Shades of Light: Click Here
The Arcadian Druid: Click Here
Dawn of Destiny: Click Here
Knight’s Creed: Click Here
Author Notes - Amy Hopkins
Written September 21, 2017
Whew, what a whirlwind couple of months! I’m quickly scribbling these notes down in between tweaking some book two scenes and getting ahead on book three. I’m also checking in to my first appearance on the Facebook pages - you guys are all so sweet!
Putting work out is really nerve wracking, but the kind and supportive comments from the fans (who haven’t read a thing I’ve written yet, mind you) have been amazing, so thank you.
Anyway, I guess you want to know a little about me. I’m an Aussie mum with three kids and a passion for writing and reading. Growing up, I was the ‘weird kid’ who walked around carrying books too big for my gangly arms and who could navigate the whole school without looking up from the pages my face was buried in.
Now my days are spent frantically scribbling words between bites of weetbix, cleaning up spills, breaking up fights and debating whether using mental magic to send naughty kids to bed would be unethical, if it were an option. It’s hard - really hard, some days, but it’s also the most fun I’ve ever had. To be able to create my own stories is a dream come true!
Speaking of dreams, this seems like a good time to drag Michael in. I remember when my first book came out. It wasn’t doing great. I was a nobody in this huge group of writers that were making pots of money. I didn’t feel like I had much to offer, but Michael still took the time to pull me in on a voice chat, making a space in his already packed schedule to offer advice and support to this fledgling writer.
I’ve never forgotten that first talk, or the way he offered so much of himself to so, so many people.
Fast forward a year and a bit, and my good friends Chris and Lee interviewed Michael on their podcast. Next thing I knew, they were jumping into the KGU and asking if I wanted to join them.
The Age of Magic channel in our Slack group (the program we use to talk, organize and track all the details that keep the worlds running) is like a close knit family. I knew good things about Brandon and had vaguely heard of PT and Candy before joining. Justin and I had spoken a bit before, so I knew I was in good company. I didn’t expect it to be this much fun, though!
Anyway, I’ll sign off now because I can get a bit rambley when I’m not following a scene by scene outline! And I know the consequence of wasting time when I could be writing more books.
I’ll see you guys in a couple of days, when I write the notes for book two!
-Amy
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Written September 28, 2017
First, THANK YOU for not only reading this book but reading all the way through to the Author Notes as well!
I only vaguely remember speaking with Amy (this would be over a year ago, I think) on that first video call. What I remember at the time (other than working to answer some questions) was “WOW, I’m speaking to an author that lives down under!”
It doesn’t take much for me to feel impressed by speaking to others in foreign countries.
Later, I listened to the Part-Time Writers podcast with CM Raymond and LE Barbant (See it here: http://www.parttimewriters.com ) and they mention Amy every few podcasts. Usually, because Amy was giving them some shit, and Chris is so willing to share all the stuff in their path to becoming full-time publishing authors.
Even the bad stuff Amy would tell them.
Somehow, these three became a trinity of friends giving each other a healthy dose of reality (which I secretly believe Chris thrives on. The worse the reality, the more he likes it.)
Amy speaks in her Author Notes about the guys having me on their podcast, then poof they were writing in The Kurtherian Gambit.
I was on their podcast and challenged them to realize that from what I understood, they didn’t know what their mountain (their goal) was with their stories. They firmly had one foot in the literature camp, and one foot in the fun-stories, pulp type genre.
They tried to do a mash-up, and it wasn’t succeeding too well. Then, they were off on other trials and tribulations, but ALWAYS they were looking back, longingly, to their literature roots.
So, fast forward like a month. It’s Christmas time 2016, and I get a request to chat from Chris - He’s asking (because he is in the 20Booksto50k group and knew of some of the people I was collaborating with) if I was open to another collaboration?
Damn! What an honor to be asked.
We agreed to push the discussion until after Christmas, but that we were absolutely going to go forward, details to be figured out later.
Then, I hit them with a “What do you guys think about running the Age of Magic?” as we were working out the details… They accepted, and I was fist pumping -“WOOHOO!”
Fast forward a couple of months, and they said they had one particular author they wanted to bring with them…
Enter Amy Hopkins.
It was serendipitous that we all traveled in these circles, and that people that care for each other have the opportunity to help each other. We have processes to do our best when on boarding a new author and the guys have the responsibility to make sure we stay on track, pleasing the fans (JIT).
I had trust in them, they had trust in Amy, and now we have a new series and another author who is biting her fingernails hoping, no praying, that all of you like her books and characters… Or is she the one that is going to be the first to fail?
I don’t think so, Amy - so you can stop biting your fingernails.
THANK YOU ALL for helping this self-professed nerd/geek girl with scrawny arms, who would read books walking down the school hall to provide you with a few of her own stories…
Just like you did me, a little less than two years ago.
Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael
Also By Amy Hopkins
Books from Amy Hopkins
The Talented Series
Dream Stalker: Talented Book 1
Barrow Fiend: Talented Book 2
Truth Taker: Talented Book 3
Faery Teind: Talented Book 4
A New Dawn
*With Michael Anderle*
Dawn of Destiny (1)
Dawn of Darkness (2)
Dawn of Deliverance (3)
Dawn of Days (4)
Broken Skies (5)
Broken Bones (6)
Other Books
Realm of the Nine Circles
Connect with Amy Hopkins
To see ALL of Amy’s different Book Series
Check out her website below!
Website: http://amyhopkinsauthor.com
Facebook: http://Facebook.com/thespellscribe
Twitter: http://twitter
.com/spellscribe
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Amy-Hopkins/e/B013GCLCWI
Knight’s Creed
Prologue
The future is not what we expected.
After our greatest heroes left Earth to carry their justice to the stars, war broke out between those who remained behind. Eventually, the alien technology that once enhanced a select few began to change, infecting the blood of all humans, bringing about an Age of Madness.
But that mutation allowed the survivors to access powers beyond their imaginations...
As society began to rebuild, those who could tame the powers within started calling it by another name.
Magic.
Years passed, and the true history of our world turned to legend. Strange societies formed, each with their own myths and methods to control the power.
But new abilities has led to new evil...and the need for new heroes.
1
The Village of Argan, Eastern Carpathian Mountains
Popova didn’t see the blow that blacked out her world. She heard someone close to her gasp with surprise as she fell. Was that Assessor Pleth? She wasn’t sure. It sounded like him, but why should he be surprised? It was his goons that knocked her down.
She woke to the sounds of wailing. Her grandchildren stood over her.
The last thing she remembered was spitting at the Assessor’s feet. He’d just told her that he and his goons would be taking a double tribute payment. That meant the village would starve over the winter that was just weeks away.
“Elder Popova!” her neighbors shouted. “Don’t leave us!”
“She’s alive!” someone shouted.
“I thought for sure they killed her,” another exclaimed.
“I’ve failed you,” the old woman wept. “I should have refused his request last spring. I should have found another way. I should have… ”
Last spring, Pleth had ordered them to produce sugar beets for the strong wine favored by Protector Lungu and the rest of the upper class. Because Argan grew less food, the double tribute would wipe out their reserves.
“No,” Tomescu hissed. “It’s not you. It’s him and all those like him. They take from us, and what do they give? Nothing! Protector, ha! Maybe a hundred years ago, but now… ” Tomescu spat into the dirt to complete his thought.
“Don’t talk like that,” Popova said, looking around to see if the authorities were within earshot.
“They’re gone,” Tomescu said. “Even if they were here, I’d say it in front of them. Enough is enough. They can’t keep doing this to us.”
“What can we do?” Popova asked.
In desperation, Tomescu looked to the early October sky. “The strangers,” Tomescu said, somehow inspired by the afternoon sun. “Those who wander down the Toll Road from the Eastern Lands. Some of them look strong and tough—like they can fight. I heard one of the guards say they’re seeing more strangers moving through the Protectorates. Some of them look like magic users.”
“No,” Popova said. “What are you saying…” she trailed off with the fear that consumed her. As angry as she was, defying the law was unthinkable.
“I’m saying we find some of the strangers and pay them to protect us,” Tomescu replied.
The crowd murmured its approval. “Yes,” she heard voices say. “We need protection.”
“Our own guard,” they said.
It was insane, but Popova could find no words. With tears streaking her bloodied face, she simply nodded her assent to the plan she knew was crazy.
“I will find us a champion,” Tomescu said.
Eastern Toll Road, Lungu Protectorate: By Chance, A Champion
Follow the stamped dirt road, Astrid thought as she stood, fists-to-hips in the center of the lane. A lopsided smile crossed her full lips as she looked around.
She had been following this particular sign of civilization for days. She had noticed the wide road from the peak of the last mountain she had climbed over. In the thin air, more than a week ago, she saw what looked like a silver line winding through the deep cut of a narrow valley to the west.
After countless days living in nature, she was ready to join her fellow human beings again.
She knew it had been nearly three years, because she had survived two winters and the fall season had found her again.
After meditating on the question and drawing her answer from the Well, the Wellspring Energy had guided her feet to this very road. She took a deep breath, and the scent of pine tasted like destiny. The Well had kept her alive in the wilderness. But this was the first time since she left home that it spoke to her. That had to mean something, but it had been so long, she had no idea what it was trying to say.
She recalled the very first principle of her code: Trust in the Well, and observe its intention, as the Well sustains all life.
She had been walking along that particular path for many miles now and had met no one. She had plenty of time to admire its construction. To maintain a road like that took significant resources.
She saw where the surface had been patched and the ditches on either side which kept runoff from cutting through was mostly clear of debris. There were even clay pipes beneath the road here and there to drain the water.
She smiled as she tried to imagine the type of people who would maintain a road like that over such a great distance. She thought it was a sure sign they had their shit together.
Then, she met Assessor Pleth.
She noticed the fat man first from not far off. He sat on an upholstered wagon bench behind the driver, who sat on a bare wooden plank. The four horses hitched to the wagon clopped to a stop a few cautious paces away, and five of six guards hopped down. She could tell the vehicle was loaded down by the way the leaf springs barely moved when the men got off.
Overall, the scene told her many things. First, that the region was well-off. A cart that size, loaded with goods meant that, not only was there trade, but that there was a lot of it. The presence of armed and armored guards also told her of a strong military culture and the need to protect such goods. That last part caused some concern. It implied this might not be such a peaceful land.
Not that she was afraid of a little bloodshed here or there.
The guards didn’t seem particularly battle hardened. She had been in enough fights to know that just by the way the crew carried themselves.
“What are you doing here?” the largest guard asked, stepping forward with a billy club in his hand.
The last guard stayed on the wagon with a crossbow in his lap while the driver rested his hand on his club. The rest made a semicircle around the wagon and fanned out.
Astrid paused. She hadn't said a word to anyone, not even herself, in years. She was only accustomed to that idealized internal voice in her head. Usually, she told that voice to shut the hell up so she could meditate.
Now she needed to speak out loud.
Astrid cleared her throat and smiled. “I am Astrid Sala. A Knight from across the Eastern Range. I am looking to be of service in this fine place.” She bowed formally. Her voice, though strange to her ears, came easily, and that made her smile deeper. But that smile faded when she lifted her head again to jeers and laughter.
“Holy shite. It’s a woman!” the guard with the crossbow exclaimed. “A big one, too. She’s as tall as you,” he said to the biggest guard.
“Big as a horse,” one of the smaller guards said, standing to the right and just behind the obvious leader. “I wonder if she’s broken in yet.”
Astrid had always been self-conscious about her size. She had always been much larger than the other girls of her House and always just as strong as the boys. Growing up, she became just as strong as most men, if not stronger. She was the only female Knight of her former House, a fact that her proud father never let her forget.
She felt a pang of sorrow remembering how he introduced her always as, “My daughter, the Knight.” She missed the noble, dead fool desperately just then.
>
It wasn’t that women didn’t fight in her lost home. It was just that the Knight’s training favored size and physical strength. Most of the women warriors of her homeland gravitated to combat roles that required stealth, cunning and finesse. That wasn’t so with Astrid.
She knew she was meant to be a Knight the first time she saw her oldest brother train in the courtyard. When she was six, she stood up to an eight-year-old who was stealing toys from kids three years younger. She heard him tell his victims not to tell on him, or he’d hurt them twice as bad. Astrid confronted him and got a bloody nose for her trouble. She lost the fight, but the kid stopped his stealing. She’d made it too much trouble for him.
She didn’t lose too many fights after that. Her father noticed right away how determined she was. When she turned thirteen and he sponsored her for the training, her stand against the bully was the first thing he mentioned to the Knights Council. She didn’t think he knew about that fight.
“I can tell she has strong legs, even under those… ” The crossbow guard sneered. “What are those? Ram-hide pants?”
“They’re wooly ram, for sure,” the other guard replied.
Astrid’s smile faded, and her hazel eyes grew cold. She had so hoped that when she had to speak out loud again, that she might do it with class. Instead, she found herself facing dipshits.
Rude dipshits at that.
“I’ve been traveling a long time, meditating in the forest,” she replied, adjusting the hundred feet of coiled climbing rope that draped her left shoulder and right hip. She carefully let drop a length of the rope so that it nearly dragged on the ground as she stepped forward.
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