Bloodline – Book 10 of the Samsara Chronicles

Intrigue and betrayal plague both Nirvana and Klatria, prompting Aislinn to call a tribunal of all Nirvanan nations to address the crisis.

While Vark, Soulmaster and corrupt ruler of Klatria, plots with the Nirvanan traitor to acquire the skull and kill the royals, insurrection grows from within the ranks of his own people. His intention to use Aislinn’s parents  as pawns to lure Aislinn to Klatria conceals his true intentions to destroy them all.




It is time…

Unobserved, he had taken his flyer and defied royal edict by traveling to the ruins. At first the castle seemed reluctant to admit him until he stepped inside and spoke. “It is I, Shakan, the son of the Many. I have come to do your bidding.”

Something unseen in the total darkness pressed against him, sniffed him and fluttered off to the sound of a keening wind. Attracted by a distant booming that reverberated through the stone floor, his attention was drawn to a heavy wooden door. The torchlight flickered like the eyes of a nocturnal animal, luring him toward a tiny glowing point embedded in the wood. And now…

More alone than he ever had been, the light abruptly stopped and hovered a short distance before him. He sensed rather than saw the catacomb beyond and carefully moved away from the stairs. As he was almost close enough to touch the eerie light, the walls began to tremble. Startled by the rumbling that shook the floor, he was about to turn back when something akin to a monstrous hand swatted his feet from beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, at the same time the light extinguished and he felt the pressure of hands around his neck.

Suddenly he emitted a bloodcurdling howl and violently threw his head back. His eyes rolled until only the whites showed, his lips uttering meaningless words. Though his body trembled, it was not from the cold. The muttering became a muffled scream until he abruptly silenced and his head dropped limply to his chest. His eyelids fluttered, closed, then half opened to regard the torch-lit main hall of the castle. No longer ruins, the fortress walls housed a bazaar attended by every tribe on Nirvana. Faces resembling his own mingled with the crowd, their finery a dazzling display of colors and fabrics set off with magnificent jewelry. Dark, fiery eyes turned toward him, voices became distinct, surfacing from the buzz of conversation and chorused in his mind.

Shakan, the time of reckoning is near. Will you fully embrace the mindflux as befitting the favored son?

A searing bolt of pain penetrated his skull. He gasped and dug his fingernails in his palms to offset the pain of the psychic assault. Mustering every reserve of willpower, he forced himself to keep a steady gaze on the apparition. Noble Janvhar, I have come as you instructed. I am your willing servant.