Title: Community
Author: Shane L. Coffey
ISBN: 978-1-62420-168-4
Genre: Fantasy
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 2
Joseph's life changed when a prophecy foretold his
future, but now his world is threatened by a menace from his past. To prevent a
catastrophe, this lone hunter must accept the help of his newfound friends and
journey into the very heart of the mountains' stone.
The tale of Joseph, the Spirit of the Trees,
continues to unfold with mystery, action, and adventure. To fulfill a prophecy,
Joseph chose a new Identity. Will his new perils convince him of his need for a
Community?
REVIEW:
Title of book: Community, by Shane Coffey (The Spirit of the
Trees Book 2)
Publisher: Rogue Phoenix Press
Genre: Fantasy
Length: 114 Pages
Rating: 4
Reviewed by: Courtney Rene
This is the story of
Joseph, a loner and survivor. His life
changed drastically thanks to a prophecy that told of his future, all the while
being threatened by his past. Joseph sets out to prevent war and
destruction. He is joined by new friends
and old on his trek underground and to new worlds.
I enjoyed this story. It was fast paced and well defined. The worlds were creative and hashed out so
that I could really see them and get into the story. I was happy to tag along in the back ground
while the characters came to terms with who they were and what they could offer
to the story. It wasn't all sunshine and
roses either. There is always
death. It's part of life and war and
battles. The author did a great job of
keeping it real and not gratuitous just for the sake of killing someone
off. Plus you get elves and dwarfs and
trolls, what's not to like?
I give the book a firm 4 star
rating. The books jumps right into the
action without giving you time to catch up.
Usually I like that, but in this type of book, sometimes we need a bit
of lead in. Other than that, I thought
it was well-written, well thought out and quite the entertaining read. Very well done.
EXCERPT
Eight years earlier...
A storm raged across the late
afternoon sky, lashing Joseph with cold, stinging rain. He pressed his back
against the base of a jagged cliff, inching his way toward the cave mouth to
the right and the glow of firelight flickering from within. No other noises
could be heard over the gale, but he knew what might otherwise have reached his
ears: the sounds of heavy labor, metal picks on hard stone.
Beyond that, he couldn't know what
to expect in the cave. Rumor had it the enemy, King Ludvarch, or one of his nobles
at the very least, had enlisted a rogue's gallery of wizards and treasure
hunters to locate the grave of the Mad Sorcerer Dalviir, Scourge of the Fourth
Dynasty. Joseph had doubted the rumors, and even if they were true, he didn't
see what it could harm. Most scholars agreed Dalviir, if indeed he ever
existed, had been no more skilled than any other wizard of his day, certainly
not able to create enchantments that could still be active now, some five
centuries after his death. Legends grow with time, after all, and what story
doesn't benefit from a terrible villain?
Still, something was
happening. Joseph's scouts had noted an increase of enemy movement in the area
despite the absence of any apparent objective. Joseph's captain was convinced
some mischief was afoot, magical or no, and had dispatched the hunter and his
band to investigate. Now, as Joseph made his way to the cave, his six scouts
would be converging on it from other directions, but unfortunately the sudden
squall made it impossible to see or hear them.
At last he crept to the edge of the
cave mouth, peering around the corner to see what transpired within. By the
light of two iron braziers guttering in the damp wind, he noted seven large
brutes smashing the back wall with pickaxes, transplants from one of King
Ludvarch's "client states," no doubt. Nearby were three men-at-arms
keeping watch and another man in red robes poring over a sheaf of charts and
ancient runes spread out on a makeshift table of supply crates.
One of the workers grunted, and a
footman craned his neck at a dark patch in the wall where the brute had been
working. "Master Viraz," the footman shouted, "we're
through."
The red-robed man looked up from his
papers with an irritated frown that twisted into a predatory smile when he saw
the hole in the wall. He pulled back his hood, revealing a short brush of black
hair over olive skin. "Splendid," he crowed. "I'll take over,
now that I'm sure where to apply myself." Viraz paced to the hole, his
movements so fluid he seemed to float in his robe, put his hand to the wall,
and began to chant.
Joseph looked around for the rest of
his scouts, knowing robed men and mysterious chanting made a troubling
combination, but still saw nothing in the gloom as the wind and rain buried the
sounds of anything farther away than a few feet. His bow was strung and ready,
but he was badly outnumbered. Ludvarch's colonial conscripts were notoriously
unpredictable; some would switch sides in the hopes of gaining their freedom,
but others hated foreigners as much as Ludvarch did. Joseph was forced to
assume any workers for an assignment like this would be chosen from the more
partisan category. If the workers were unpredictable, the wizard was downright
inscrutable. A shot from Joseph's bow might slay him as it would any other man,
or it might be blocked, redirected, or nullified by any number of sorcerous
protections, and if any of them had signs or traces to reveal their presence
beforehand, Joseph had no idea what they were. Normally, he took his shot and hoped
for the best, but without support he could just as easily doom himself and the
mission by revealing his presence. In hindsight he shouldn't have been
surprised to arrive well before his men; they were accomplished woodsmen, but
for all the training he'd given them, none approached his skill. Very few men
did.
As Joseph willed his scouts to hurry
or his situation to otherwise improve, the wizard, Viraz, finished his brief
chant, and the wall around the hole disintegrated into coarse sand just long
enough to flow downward onto the floor before hardening back into stone,
leaving a portal as wide as a door and perhaps two-thirds as tall. Light from
the braziers crept inside, revealing a stone slab in a small, round chamber,
all obscured by dancing webs of shadow. Viraz stooped and walked inside,
breaking the crust of brittle stone that had flowed over his feet, and Joseph
dared a backward look into the gloom. He could see one of his scouts, probably
Tobias, judging by his gait, jogging in from the north, opposite the cave
mouth, and motioned him to be silent. Once the man was closer, he gestured in
their code of simple hand signals, "Where are the others?"
Tobias shrugged. Inside, Viraz
shouted for help, and one by one the tall, broad workers squeezed into the
room, the largest two being forced to their hands and knees to pass the
makeshift door, followed in turn by all but one of the footmen, who kept watch
in the outer cave.
At last four other scouts arrived,
quickly explaining through hand signals and mouthed words that the sudden rains
had swollen a stream course at the bottom of the ravine they'd been following.
They lost Jerome. Joseph nodded with a frown, frustrated over the deaths of
Thatcher and Donald two months before. Jerome's loss would not have happened on
their watch. Hesitating no longer, Joseph pointed to Ulf, his toughest fighter,
then motioned to the guard inside. Ulf rushed forward with his long knife
drawn, silencing the watchman permanently.
Joseph had no desire to duck through
the low, inner door to be stricken down without a fight, so he arrayed his men
in the outer cave, flanking the small door and out of sight. On the far side
were Klaus, his second, Ulf and Richard, the newest recruit; Joseph stood
across from them with Tobias and Nathan, still his youngest man, though he'd
been with Joseph over a year now. They stood with their bows at the ready,
waiting for the enemy to emerge into their ambush.
A worker came out first, and the
bowmen tensed and waited, bent on delaying until the last possible moment to
launch their attack, lest the remainder barricade themselves in the cave until
the wizard could concoct a means of victory or escape. A second worker emerged,
followed quickly by the wizard himself. In his hand was a glowing sphere, not much
smaller than his fist, its light pulsing red. As one, Joseph and his men drew
their bows, and the motion caught the wizard's eye. Before they could reach
even half-stretch, he swept his fist at the trio across from Joseph, the orb's
light blazing through his fingers. Their bows and clothing incinerated
instantly, and the three fell to the ground with agonized screams, the reek of
burning flesh smoking through the chamber.
Joseph's group loosed their arrows.
Tobias, to Joseph's right, didn't have a clean shot at the wizard; his arrow
took a workman in the chest. Joseph and Nathan aimed true, but their missiles
caught in Viraz's clothing as though it was the densest oak. The wizard
stretched forth his hand again. Joseph dove to his left, tackling Nathan into
what he hoped was safe cover behind the crates, but Tobias was consumed by a
blinding flash of flame.
Joseph protected the young scout
with his body and peered over the crates, now blackened and smoking, at the
wizard, sure his life had reached its end. His heart longed to see Delia just
one more time, and he cried a silent apology that he would not be coming back
to her. Viraz strode toward the cave opening, looking into Joseph's eyes.
Joseph stared back, unflinching, waiting for the wizard to raise his hand.
Viraz only smiled, his gaze as cruel as it was dismissive, and walked out of
the cave into the slackening rain, his men trailing behind.
After a minute had passed, Joseph
finally breathed again and let his charge sit up. "What are we going to
do?" the young man asked, terror in his voice.
"You're going straight back to
the captain to explain what has happened here. If all else fails, someone has
to know. And me...I'm going after them."
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