01/01/2020
FREE for 3 Days - January 1st, 2nd and 3rd on Amaazon Kindle
The Rise of Lord Belmundus by Edward C. Patterson
The Adventures of Lord Belmundus - Book One
Harris edged toward the floor — a bright-white marble floor, which would no doubt be cold if he were not wearing fine sandals made from a material he couldn’t quite place. Not leather. Nor cloth. Metal, perhaps, but fluid like mercury and a bit unpleasant when pressed groundward, like stepping in mud.
“Who are you?” he asked the lad.
No answer. Harris took a step, found the experience strange, and then grasped the platform. He hunkered down beside the lad.
“You understand me or you couldn’t have told me where I am.”
The lad shook his head.
“You have a tongue or you couldn’t have answered me at all. So who are you?”
“Your Trone.”
“My Trone? A servant?” Harris stood, and then sat again at the platform’s edge. “Do I need a servant? I don’t need anyone fetching for me. It goes completely against the grain. I mean, if you were an intern or a dresser or a wardrobe expert, it would be different. But a servant . . . or what did you call it — my Trone. I don’t think so.”
“Please, master,” the lad said, inching forward, clasping his hands prayer-like. He had a strange device near his knee — a lamp of some kind. He took care not to disturb it. “If you reject me, they will turn me out of the palace and I shall be in harm’s way.”
Harris sat agape. He had a servant — a slave — assigned to him and trembling at the loss of his meager prospects.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to put you in harm’s way.”
“Thank you, master.”
“Don’t call me master. It makes me want to puke.”
“Have I displeased you, master?”
The lad grasped Harris’ ankle, and then squeezed. Embarrassing. Harris shook his foot loose.
“Let me think,” he mused. “What’s your name?”
The servant bowed low.
“No name, master.”
Harris balled his fist at the word master. He would be no man’s better. However, was this a man? The lad wore funny sandals and seemed to float instead of walking. He could be a robot or an android. Maybe he had a number — like Trone450-APrime2. If so, it would be a designation still.
“Certainly, you must have a name.”
The lad trembled, touching the lamp as if it was a touchstone. Harris lost patience. He awoke in a strange, sterile room under the scrutiny of a fuzzy eyeball and now bantered with a creature so fawning it made him nervous to be in its presence.
“Come, come,” Harris snapped. “Your name?”
“We are not allowed to speak, master,” the Trone muttered. “Not even your name. You are not to know I am here even. Why would you know my name if I am not here?”
“Of course you’re here. I’m not blind. And I’m not treating you like . . . that lamp or . . . a table, even if you’re . . . fetching me stuff, or whatever you do.”
“I serve you in all things. They should have told you.”
“There’s lots of s**t I don’t know. This is one. You can bet there’s more. Like what was that big eyeball when I awoke?”
“I cannot speak of the Eye. She will know; and I will be punished.”
Just so. The kid’s here to serve Harris’ needs, but he couldn’t answer the first question.
Harris hunkered down again, looking his Trone squarely in the face. The lad found it difficult to deflect this glance. Looking at the master must have been a taboo also. Harris sighed — a desperate gasp filled with resignation.
“So you’re my Trone.”
“Trone, master. Yes.”
“And what’s a Trone?”
The lad trembled, but cocked his head and stammered.
“A Trone, master. A Cetrone. The people of Cetronia are the Trones, although I live in the Kalugu and not beyond the Forling in the Spice Mountains.”
For a nonentity blending into hamper and sink, this lad had given Harris a heap of information, most unintelligible, but it was a start. Harris reached out to touch him. The Trone flinched, and then looked askance, as if deciding to run should the Eye reappear.
“So your people do have a name — and not a label. You must have a name too.”
“You must not ask it, master. It is not done.”
“It is, if I say so. That is, if you’re supposed to serve me in all things.”
“You want to know the name my mother gave me?”
“That would be the one,” although Harris knew the one he sported wasn’t the one his mother gave him.
“It is not easy for the Ayelli to say things in my language.”
“Ayelli?”
“You are Ayelli, master.”
“Ah — you’re teaching me left and right here.” Harris frowned. “What’s your name? Stop beating around the bush. If I can’t pronounce it, I’ll give you a nickname like Spanky or Alfalfa.”
“Alfalfa?”
“Don’t sweat it. Just tell me. My knees are hurting.”
The lad grinned and, in that grin — connection. Harris felt it — trust emerging from servitude.
“I am called Yustichisqua.”
“Yusti . . .”
“Yustichisqua.”
“Cheese-skwa.”
“Yustichisqua.”
“Yustichisqua. Now that’s not so bad to pronounce. I sound like a Cetrone now.”
“Do not say that, master. You dishonor yourself.”
“How so?”
“We are never more than servants to the Ayelli. I am fortunate to serve here. If you were Cetrone, I could not serve you.”
Harris stood again, raising Yustichisqua. The lad remained humble, looking away to dismiss familiarity.
“Have I missed som**hing?” Harris asked.
“You are not like the others. But in time you shall learn how to treat me as an Ayelli does and all will be well.”
“You’re right. I’m not like the others. I’ll learn, if I decide to stay. But I’m not playing Simon Legree for any one. That part’s not in my repertoire.” Harris thought he heard someone coming — footfalls in the distance. “You know, I’ve forgotten how to pronounce your name already.”
“You should not use it, master. You should not even refer to me as Trone. Just wave or glance. I shall know.”
“Nonsense. Pronounce it again.”
“Yustichisqua, if you insist, master.”
“What does it mean?”
Yustichisqua smiled, and then demured.
“It means Baby Bird in my language.”
“Baby Bird.” Harris chuckled, but then decided it was a perfect fit . . . or near perfect. “I shall call you Little Bird. How’s that?”
“You should not do me honor, master. But . . .”
“But what?”
“I am glad that you are not dismissing me. To do so would end my life and I live to . . .”
“I know. To serve me in all things. That may be your role in this B movie, but we’ll work on a better scenario. I’m an A-list actor, you know.”
Little Bird bowed, just as the footsteps became louder and the men entered.
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What Readers say:
"I rarely give anything 5 stars as there is som**hing special which I need to find in a book before I will give it that rating. This is one of those books." - D. H. Wieczorek
"This is quite the epic and the world building is substantial with its characters, politics, geography, animals, language, and so on."
"Patterson has created a complete world for Harris to explore, including unusual flora and fauna, complex relations between the Farnian races, and languages that can sound strange to our ears but that, with repeated use, become almost as recognizable as our own."
"I loved the theme of this book and was very sorry when it ended."
"Belmundus is a complex epic and will be enjoyed by those who relish exploring new worlds and races, and plots infused with political intrigue and rich deep characterization. This is quite the tome, so block some major time to ensure your full emersion into all Patterson has to offer."
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Harris Cartwright, actor of stage and screen, is as attractive as he is attracted. The world is his oyster and his red carpet. He earns his living in the land of make-believe. His finery is fakery, and yet it boosts his roles and mesmerizes his many fans. Little does he know that out in the darkened theater of life there lurks a hook to lure him through what, most call, a break between worlds, but might be categorized as an adventure without parallel in this world or any other. Harris Cartwright, actor of stage and screen, is about to slip the bonds of reality and land somewhere between Oz and the rabbit hole.
The Rise of Lord Belmundus is the first book in the fifteen book series, The Adventures of Lord Belmundus, a remarkable tale of others worlds, strange customs, beauty and warfare; and, in its grips, lands a young celebrity, who has the chaps to play the many parts this great journey requires. In the first book, Harris Cartwright slips into twilight, journeys by strange means to a palace overlooking the City of Montjoy, where he learns his fate — bound to it by a fierce prophesy. Come enter the world of Farn, where East is West, and North is South; and some citizens walk seamlessly through walls. Come begin this adventure with . . . Lord Belmundus as he rises.
192 Pages
The Adventures of Lord Belmundus
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The Rise of Lord Belmundus
The Didaniyisgi
The Kalugu
Across the Forling
Cetronia Strikes Back
(coming in 2020)
The Battle for Montjoy
The Hour of the Zinbear
Yustichisqua
The Summit at Protractus
The Aniloka
Nayowee’s Curse
Aolium Sunset
The Adumbration of Zin
Spasatorum Quest
Primordius Centrum
Harris Cartwright, actor of stage and screen, is as attractive as he is attracted. The world is his oyster and his red carpet. He earns his living in the land of make-believe. His finery is fakery, and yet it boosts his roles and mesmerizes his many fans. Little does he know that out in the darke...
