The Rains of War Sneak Peek!

Prologue

Year 572, New World

Month One, Third Season

November

Nicholas gazed through his study window at the storm clouds draped across the sky.

Steam billowed from his morning tea as he watched the painful stir of Edinburgh below, a torrential downpour battering the city without remorse. The threat of flash floods was too great to ignore when commuting on horseback, even within urban boundaries.

The rains of the Third Season had not been the worst the Alban Region had ever endured. Most of the damage as of yet had been limited to the southern coast. After years of abuse, the old levees in London finally surrendered to one of the recent hurricanes, leaving the roads more like canals. No great loss there, he thought.

Nicholas blew into his cup before taking a sip. His Minister of Resources was due in less than an hour to sort a few things before their meeting with the Ambassador of Trade for the European Union. If they were finished by half two, he could spend some time with Morgan before the St. Andrew’s Day celebration later in the evening. As the ambassador had been instructed to accept whatever Nicholas offered, their negotiations shouldn’t take long.

A sharp rap on the door caused him to start, a drop of tea escaping onto his fresh trousers. His cup clacked hard against the glass-topped table when he set it down before jerking his jacket from the back of his chair and shoving his arms into it. 

Silk tie in place, he called out. “Come!”

A young blonde in a dress blue uniform came round to stand beside him, holding out a small slip of paper. “Prime Minister Payne, this just arrived.”

He perused the familiar handwriting, careful to keep the smile from his lips as he read. “Where are they being taken?”

“To the Cauldron, sir.”

She reached to take the message. He kept a firm grip and locked eyes with her. “Instruct Lachlan to begin the interrogations.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded. Her footsteps echoed quietly as she saw herself out.

Rain torpedoed the window as if nature itself were attempting to reach through the glass, then all at once subsided. Dark clouds pulled back to reveal a dull, grayish-blue hidden behind them. After a moment of relative calm, the faint tattoo of raindrops started up again.

He picked up his cup from the table and cradled it in his hands. Providence had ordained him the liberator of humanity; the Prometheus of mankind. With such a task before him, Nicholas knew the end would more than justify the means. It would define them.  

He blew into his cup and took a sip, then looked out over Edinburgh and smiled.

© M.H. Mayfield. All rights reserved.