Red Haircrow:

I wished to enter for the October category of “Best Bad-ass Hero”. This fits my character Lieutenant Jarryd Alyt, a dark-haired sword-wielding hero who leaves no enemies alive on the battle field. This m/m story is a historical fantasy about love lost, awakened and redeemed between soldiers struggling to survive in what seems a never ending war.

It was published June 9, 2010 with Dreamspinner Press. Tthe official blurb:

“Lieutenant Jarryd Alyt has given blood and soul in service to the Duke, yet suffering the loss of a beloved companion drives him near the brink of despair. Disillusioned though still loyal, when new recruit Arin arrives, Jarryd is struck by the youth’s innocence and beauty. But will the horror of war strike before Jarryd summons the courage to love again?”

The story itself is very character and emotion driven, and rated a solid PG-13 for some sexual situations and language. Though it is a passionate tale, it isn’t graphic as mentioned at Rainbow Reviews, where it was rated a 4.5 out of 5 stars: “Haircrow’s descriptions of their first sexual joining was splendid in the choice of words. The lovemaking was dealt with quickly, but reverently. It will not be the last story by this author I read. Haircrow’s magnificent command of language, skill in showing events using a minimum of words had me spellbound from beginning to end.”

My excerpt describes the final battle, where Jarryd and his 2nd in command, Lvarnan prepare for an enemy assault. Don’t be alarmed, my story has a surprisingly satisfying and thrilling end.

“Rise and fall, left to right, anything that moved not wearing his own colours, Jarryd cut down. The wave of enemy confronted had been broken, flowing off to their sides, but now came the most dangerous time. They mustn’t allow the opposing soldiers to circle and get behind them, possibly cutting them off. Instead, they must pull back and regroup, connecting with the next company.

Jarryd called out to rally, knots of men battling here and there, seemed to hear, falling back as they could. Footing was difficult as one stumbled over the fallen, he climbed up a slight hillock to get a better view of the area. Lvarnan was there, he saw, a few of their own beside him, finishing off a resistant knot of enemy.

“To me! To me,” he shouted. As they rallied to his side, he looked wildly around for Arin. Fought down a surge of fear, as he couldn’t find him in the immediate area, forced himself to look at the bodies at their feet.

“Everyone’s pulling back to the left for a second run,” Lvarnan informed him. He acknowledged the man, but still scanned for his lover.

“We’ve lost about ten I know of,” Lvarnan panted, wiping at the blood dripping from his beard. “But last I saw of him…he were still up.”

Jarryd growled, readjusting his helmet. His men joined with others to reform a defensive line, some helping wounded comrades back. A horn sounded, calling everyone into position. Though he had no gods he’d ever openly acknowledged, Jarryd now prayed. Another phalanx of enemy was moving forward.

* * * *

Arin fought with terrified determination, fought as Jarryd taught him, not trying to bring an enemy down with sheer force, but instead using his quickness: ducking beneath swings, striking with the edge of his blade for the more vulnerable joints at back of the knee, elbow or neck. He took a glancing blow off his shield, tripped over a fallen comrade and went down, yet managed to avoid the downswing, stabbing at the exposed side. He scrambled to his feet again, shoulder throbbing with the pain of punching his blade through a man’s body. The man’s blue eyes had widened in shock, before the light in them fled.

He couldn’t think of that, he had no time. Think only of Jarryd, of seeing him again. Not of the blood everywhere, of the stink of voided bowels. Another enemy soldier sighted him, yelled challenge. Terrified yet defiant, Arin howled in return. He blocked, letting the other’s blade slide down his own, thrust his shoulder forward trying to knock the warrior off balance, but the man closed too quickly. Arin took an elbow to the spine, vomiting helplessly from the pain. This is it, he thought, doubling over, awaiting the death stroke.

It didn’t come. A clash of steel sounded over his head.

“Up!” someone yelled at him. “Get up, gods damn you, they’re coming again!”

He never knew who it was who saved him, but he climbed painfully to his feet. One leg felt numb for some inexplicable reason, but he forced himself to stand on it, limping off in the direction where regroup sounded.

* * * *

There he was, battered, staggering, but alive, Arin tailed a few stragglers who’d finally made their way back to the main. Jarryd let go the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, rushing forward to catch Arin in his arms. The boy was splashed with blood, one sleeve entirely drenched.

“I’m alright, it’s not mine, lieutenant,” Arin gasped. “I took a blow to the back but I’m alright.” Yet the eyes looking up into Jarryd’s were dazed, unfocused, and the youth clutched one side, panting.

“Arin,” he growled, shaking the lad, who winced in pain, nearly dropping his sword. “You need to get to medical! We’re about to be overrun!”

Reinforcements were supposed to be on their way. A runner had been sent, but no sight of them yet on the rear horizon.

“No time,” shouted Lvarnan, who had been listening nearby. “They must have been right on his tail. Here they come!”

Cursing, Jarryd took defensive position in front of the Arin, meeting the charge with savage ferocity.

* * * *

Too many of them. Sweat and blood dripped in his eyes. He shook it away. Arin was still nearby, he could see him peripheral vision, but even in that split second of time Jarryd noted the total exhaustion in his moves. Hold on, Jarryd chanted silently to himself in rhythm with his strokes. Hold on!

Nearly surrounded, a lone splatter of red in a turbulent sea of blue, another companion cried out and fell at his left. Jarryd stepped forward to close the gap. In the distance he could hear faintly the horn of approach. The reinforcements were nearing. Jarryd and those left of his men fought on grimly but he knew they couldn’t hold out much longer.

Arin!

Jarryd heard his cry, turned in desperation just as a pass took Arin’s helmet off, battering the youth to his knees. Too tired to rise again, Arin held his sword up in vain to block the coming blow, but was bowled over, hurled backwards by its force.

“No!” Jarryd screamed, finding new strength. He finished the opponent in front of him, lost sight of Arin for a moment before finally pushing through to his side. Blood. The too young, beautiful face was covered with blood, slack. With bare fingers, having lost his shield, Jarryd grasped the murderer’s chin, forcing it against his shoulder, twisted it cruelly, roaring in grief, then knelt by Arin’s limp form, as the body fell away.

He couldn’t breath, he couldn’t speak. It was then all over again. The gods were cruel, and he was damned. Jarryd stood slowly, tossing away his helmet. Taking Arin’s sword from the limp fingers, final vengeance in his eyes, Jarryd charged back into battle.”

Certainly my story is still available from Dreamspinner Press, but I still have copies available for a reviewer if they would like to find out what brought my lovers, Jarryd and Arin together, and how the tale ends. That’s an either/or, however, any feedback or comments are appreciated. I do appreciate the opportunity to enter your contest, thank you.

DH Starr:

I would like to enter an excerpt for September and paid, but don’t see how to enter it.

I have a YA novel due for publication in the next month or so. It’s in copyediting right now through Featherweight Press (subsidiary of MLR Press). What’s the deadline for September submission and how do I submit?

DH Starr
dhstarr@dhstarr.com

Victor J. Banis:

Hmm, yes, I sent in my $10 via Paypal for an October stripped entry, but like DH I don’t see any instructions for submitting the excerpt – anybody got a clue?