About City of the Dead:
A warrior trapped by the past.
A priest hunted by hidden enemies.
A city haunted by old gods’ magic.
Battle-scarred
and cynical, Conyr survives as a guard in Eretria’s foulest prison for
one reason. He watches his back. When he’s blackmailed into breaking Dru
out of prison, staying safe becomes impossible.
A young priest
from an enemy city, Dru has come to Eretria on a mission. But he has a
big problem. He can’t remember what his mission is. And the ruling elite
of both cities intend to discover it by any means necessary.
Together,
Conyr and Dru must navigate a maze of power-hungry rivals, desert
assassins, and magical attacks if they wish to live.
Deep
beneath the city itself long-dead gods kindle to life—and they are
angry. For the young priest's lost memory holds more than the key to his
past, but also the fates of two cities.
Join the adventure--get your copy now.
Excerpt:
It was an evil day.
Outside Eretria's walls, the farmers living on the sun baked plains kept their livestock carefully separated; breeding on this day would only result in stillbirths or deformities. Inside the walls, priests lit incense and sent prayers of protection to the gods along with the sweet smelling smoke. The astrologers, adamant about the heavenly portents, recommended that the faithful remain in their homes not only at night, but during the daytime as well.
Conyr Elarrin had no sooner started his rounds, that afternoon, when he found himself wishing he'd done just that. Falas, the head guard, ordered him to stand watch in the Pit, the lowest level of the prison. Conyr normally patrolled the first and second levels, which housed a slightly better lot: prisoners who had committed crimes against the city state or whose means had purchased them less crowded conditions. There was only one reason he would be ordered to the Pit. Someone had been brought in for torture. His stomach tightened in dread. Kar, not today, he prayed silently. But Kar wasn't listening or—more likely—didn't care.
He descended the stairs to the Pit, a large room dug from the hard desert earth and lined with iron bars to create two areas: one huge square cell where the masses mingled and a smaller square in the center for the guards and those unfortunate enough to be tortured. Falas was there, a look of feverish excitement on his round, sweating face.
Shortly, two of Conyr's fellow guards arrived dragging a young man with a bloodied face and torn tunic. They looped a long, rough rope around his wrists, then tossed the end through a hook on the ceiling and pulled it until the young man's sandals dangled just above the stone floor. Blood dripped from his chafed wrists. The young man looked down at the red spots, then up, again. He had dark hair that curled slightly from the dampness of sweat and a face that, though understandably pale, appealed to the eyes because of its symmetry and openness. His expression riveted Conyr: It spoke of pride, strength, determination, and complete knowledge of what was impending. Conyr could tell that the young man knew he would not make it. Somehow, in some way he could not explain, the young man's courage touched him in a place deep inside that he thought had been seared closed by the prison's ever present misery.
Prisoners with matted beards and filth encrusted robes surged against the bars in excitement. Conyr jabbed them back with his cudgel. Voices rose as the more eager onlookers wagered on the young man's strength. They sickened Conyr, all the more so because some of them had been victims of the same type of treatment, though they had the dubious honor of surviving.
A burst of hot air from the surrounding desert struck the outside of the building, sifting dust through the tiny ventilation windows near the ceiling. The accompanying puff of breeze stirred the odors—the sweat and feces and unwashed bodies—into a nauseating mixture that permeated the very walls and gave the place an old feel. It wasn't, though. The prison had been built barely twenty five years ago, when the old council decided that Eretrian citizens convicted of offenses such as stealing, raping and defaulting on debts should no longer be enslaved, just imprisoned for a set term. Enslavement was reserved for foreigners.
Falas pulled out his cudgel and slapped it against his bare palm. A cry of approval went up. So, that was how they would do it this time—beat the prisoner to death. Conyr's eyes snapped back to the young man's face, saw him close his eyes and move his lips in some silent supplication.
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About Xina Marie Uhl:
Xina Marie Uhl is a fiction author and freelance writer of thirty-plus nonfiction books for young people. She holds a BA and MA in history with a specialty on the ancient Mediterranean. Her fantasy novel City of the Dead draws on ancient history for its unique worldbuilding and atmosphere.
Uhl splits her time between writing action-packed fantasy adventures and humorous historical romances. Her books include The King’s Champion, Lady Law and the Texas DeRangers, Whiter Pastures, and All Mouth and No Trousers. Her latest work in progress, a six-part paranormal fantasy called Blue Moon Rising, will debut in 2021. Learn more about her work at XCPublishing.net.
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