The Abandoned Asylum of the Good Doctor Fangtasahd

By R. Janvier del Valle

After weeks of lengthy travel, Vohro is forced to pursue a young boy who abruptly steals his champion horse. Capturing him with ease, the deaf warrior eventually lets the boy go, only to have the young thief beg to be trained as a Davinian Blademaster. Unwilling at first, Vohro slowly warms up to the boy, and recognizing certain qualities in the boy that reminded him of how he once was, Vohro gives into the boy's wishes. Soon after the two form the bond of teacher and student, they are thrown into a dangerous supernatural world when they infiltrate a mystifying floating temple, landing in the trenches of the good Dr. Fangtasahd's Asylum. Inside, they witness the horrors committed by the supernatural doctor-beast, ultimately leading them into the abyss of a womb-like temple which harbors a sacrificial table known as "The Altar of Men." After a fierce struggle with the perilous forces living inside the asylum, the boy is forced to escape, and fearing his teacher dead, leaves Vohro behind to an unknown fate.

This installment introduces a new character, Jeskun bal Janvai, a young beggar thief who, by his own merit, is accepted by Vohro to be his first pupil--and mischievous companion.

Series No. 2: The Abandoned Asylum of the Good Doctor Fangtasahd: 21,500 words (the equivalent to 70 paperback pages). Includes illustrations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. Janvier del Valle
• Release date: Feb 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301628476

R. Janvier del Valle

R. Janvier del Valle holds a Bachelor of Business Administration from Kennesaw State University and a Master of Theological Studies from Spring Hill College. He has worked in the Advertising, Marketing, and Communications industries for over ten years and has taught a number of classes in philosophy and theology to adults as well as children.He resides with his wife and daughter in Georgia. When he isn't writing, he's sleeping. And when he's not sleeping, he's spending time with his family, running, hiking, hitting the gym, watching movies, buying overpriced one-sixth scale action figures, studying and reading philosophy and theology, and most of all, collecting pointy, shiny things that tend to gleam of a certain silver whenever exposed to the moonlit eventide."In necesariis unitas, in dubiis libertas, in omnibus caritas."

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OTHER BOOKS BY R. JANVIER del VALLE

SWORD FROM THE SKY SERIES (NOVELS)

Book One: The Blade School of Daví

Book II: Onward Unto An Endless Night (2013)

THE DEAF SWORDSMAN SERIES (NOVELLAS)

No. 1: Children of a Sunless Land

No. 3: Along the Many Houses of Damnation

No. 4: Beauty in a Land of Sorrow

No. 5: Where the Frost Reigns (2013)

No. 6: The Golden Queen (2013)

No. 7: The Veil of Vanity (2013)

No. 8: The Hound of the Moon (2013)

No. 9: Escape from the Sunless Land (2013)

SILAS DE SAN MICHEL MYSTERY SERIES (NOVELS)

To Kill and Kill Again (2013)

"The man was a marriage of monk and savage, of scholar and assassin…a brute at times, he had a touch of the pagan barbarian…yet was the brightest of philosophers and had the grace of a spirited healer. On a quest to find his missing child, he took to a higher calling, driven by something greater, as if that one mission was just an excuse to truly enact his divine destiny. Restless and sour as the dank, gray air of the moon, he was reliable in only one respect--he was wired since birth to destroy evil--in all manners, in all forms. This was the deaf swordsman, Vohro Vahllenu--the man with nine blades."

THE ABANDONED ASYLUM OF THE GOOD DOCTOR FANGTASAHD

"HOW LONG ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP ME TIED up? said a yellow-maned youth strung up to a fortified tree. You’re going to have to cut me down sooner or later. The boy struggled with the leather binding, rocking back and forth like a weightless hammock being bullied by the wind. I’m prepared to do battle if that is what to come of this."

Next to the boy was a stout horse, balancing itself on its muscular limbs. White as the snow that covered it, the stallion felt nothing but sympathy for the boy. In fact, it seemed as if the horse was beginning to side with the young lad as it turned to its master and used its eyes to plead for mercy.

That’s not going to work, Dahkar, said Vohro, who sat near a small fire--a tired traveler from an unknown land seeking the warmth of a few flames. The boy has to learn that actions have consequences. He said this with a muffle to his speech, for being deaf deprived him from expressing the totality of his voice.

Dahkar eyed him fully, and the horse knew that his master was nothing less than stubborn. He walked up to Vohro and used his hoof to softly nudge him on his shoulder.

Careful with the wound, beast, said Vohro, increasingly annoyed. Fine then, stubborn mule. Cut him down, if only to be left in peace from the likes of you two. Vohro grabbed for the blade snuggled on his left hip and lobbed it at Dahkar. Swiftly, the stallion caught it by the tang.

"Use my blade, Eturita, to snip that dead weight off the tree. It serves him right to suffer in discomfort, especially if he intended to steal my horse without repercussions."

Dahkar moved up to the boy and used the blade to cut the bindings on his feet and hands. The youth dropped straight onto the ground like a big wet sack hitting the hardest stone. Dahkar leaned down and motioned for the boy to grab his neck, helping the lad up to his feet. He had the clothes of a beggar with some quality accessories accenting his dirt-ridden ensemble, suggesting some efficiency in thievery.

It seems you have a friend, said Vohro, who eyed the boy’s lips as he came towards him. Be glad of that, for I’m not too fond of thieves. Dahkar gave his master a quick glance.

I’m nothing like a thief, said the boy, his pride hurt. "It was your horse that asked me to ride him. It was his eyes. They lured me in."

Vohro turned to his stallion, which was playing the ignorant one with his legs close together and his eyes to the stars, and then let out a great sigh, knowing he’d been deceived by his long-time companion.

You know, I don’t know what gets me more into trouble, my sword or my horse, said Vohro. He reached out to Dahkar and grabbed him by the chin. Are you getting tired of me, old friend? The white stallion brushed off his comment with a snort and then began to lick his right cheek. Okay, enough already! The sun is rising. We must prepare to make our way north.

The orange sun peeked across the sky just behind the translucent clouds in the distance. Dawn was settling in, and Vohro’s camp took form as the shadows dissipated towards the east. The snowcapped trees stood tall against the backdrop of a fortuitous mountain. Due north laid a path leading to a thick, frosty forest, bordering on the edges of a large but ancient village. That would be the traveler’s next stop.

Vohro rose up, and the strange warrior was revealed to the boy. He was tall and muscular, battered beyond lifetimes, with gauntly cheeks and handsome features. He wore dark clothing all over, and on his upper mass, the warrior had a rich, sleeveless garment with intricate designs, probably worth more money than the boy had acquired throughout his miserable life. On his forearms were silver gauntlets with blades sticking out of each one, gleaming against the moonlit dawn.

Vohro moved towards a large sack that leaned against a hefty, smooth boulder. Next to the sack laid his Rasplendur or his long blade--the deadliest of all his steel-engrossed brood. He grabbed the blade just near the guard with the hilt exposed. Roughly cut and abused, the hilt was made of a shimmering silver, glistening beyond the shadows of the dusk. The silver encapsulated a small vial made of smooth glass inside, housing a dark and syrupy liquid. Vohro twisted off the cap at the end of the hilt, releasing some of the liquid into the darkness of the winter earth.

What’s that? said the boy as he approached the traveler. But Vohro didn’t answer, for he was in a trance-like state, muttering sacred words beneath his chapped lips. The breathiness of the words, though silent and weak, seemed to slice through the icy air like lightning piercing the dank, gray clouds of a storm; it was electrifying.

Is that your blood? said the boy as he saw the deaf warrior turn to him.

Speak to my eyes and not my body when you utter words, for I cannot read your lips if you don’t.

Oh, I see, said the boy, caught off guard with the warrior’s deafness.

And yes, boy, blood it is, he said. It’s mine, taken from me a long time ago.

Why do you spill it?

It’s my duty, said Vohro, capping off the hilt and raising himself up. "I’m bound by my oath to only spill blood in defense of others. If there comes a time where I spill blood in defense of my own interests, I must spill