Destiny's Warriors by R.M. Putnam
Ferrin Collins, archaeologist and professor living in modern day Belfast, goes out to explore for a possible dig-site and dozes off in the woods, dreaming as always of another time and place. He awakes in ancient Ireland, where he stumbles onto his Destiny in the town of Erui where he meets Rowena, and sparks fly as she dances for him. While on an errand one day, Rowena and Ferrin encounter a Druid called Wolf. During their time together, Wolf tells them the tale of Destiny’s Warriors. He enlightens Ferrin with the story of two royal brothers from the Underworld a realm of winter and their journey into the unknown Otherworld of perpetual summer, where they engage in mischief as young men will do. They encounter three sisters which spark a path of betrayal, murderous plots and revenge. What results is an exhilarating journey into forbidden love and the horrors of human sacrifice. Destiny’s Warriors inspires its readers to empathize with the difficult decisions these ancient souls had to make in their lives. Should they be true to their own hearts, or the strict rules of their forefathers, while trying to survive in an ancient, harsh world of magic, tyranny and war. From the Author: I took great pleasure in writing Destiny's Warriors. Celt myth and the wonderment of Pagan gods sent me on a journey that took 15 years to write all ten novels in the series. The brutality of human sacrifice to appease the gods is a part of history that is horrific. And, the idea of Gods having to deal with the same emotional issues as mortal man was fascinating for me to create. This wonderful journey into mystical realms guided me to continue and finish the saga. I tell of enchanted warriors, mystical creatures and monsters such as Crimson Death and Banshees. The struggle to survive, heartache, betrayal and rivalry are what my characters have to face in this fantasy. You'll cry, cringe and feel in awe at the romance as you read my tale. I hope you enjoy reading Destiny's Warriors. May a Rainbow be your guide down destiny's path. R. M. Putnam About the Author: R.M. Putnam is a student of Mythology, enraptured by Pre-Christian Irish folklore. A day-dreamer who is guided by the question "What If?" led her to create the tale of Destiny's Warriors, the first in a series of 10 novels. Adventure, romance and magic in a world of mystical creatures. A time of warriors, ancient gods and the practice of human sacrifice are the threads that weave her story. Excerpted from Destiny's Warriors by R Putnam. Copyright © 2007. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Excerpt from Chapter 6:
she felt the same feelings for him as he held for her. They would meet in the forest. He would keep his identity from her a while longer. The waxing moon cast blue spears of light through the canopy of trees onto the forest floor. Val-Thar let his horse lead the way towards the Underworld, his mind swam in pools of bliss as he reflected on his night with his dearest love. Then, the screech of an armor piercing arrow roused Val-Thar from his thoughts. In a split second he leaned back narrowly avoiding the arrow. Val-Thar instantly realized that he was in the midst of an ambush. He pushed his steed to a mad galloping dash along the forest trail. Val-Thar spited himself for letting his guard down. The elves of the Otherworld must have been tracking him for at least a mile. From the sound of the heavy hooves behind him Val-Thar knew he would face at least three elf lords. With the wave of his hand a thick darkness enveloped the forest. Val-Thar pushed his horse to its limit pulling far ahead of the pursuing elves. Val- Thar could feel the frigid draft of the Underworld near by, a light snow-fall told him he was less than a mile away. He dismounted his horse and prepared for the elf lords. Val-Thar could see as the elves searched the clearing they were no mere elves, these were master elves. Their skills had been honed by centuries of practice. The lead elf crept as silently as a circling hawk. Val- Thar waited for the perfect moment holding his breath and slowing his heart so as not to be heard. Then, he emerged from the darkness, taking the elf off guard, he brought his sword to bear cleaving the elf master like a butchered boar. Faster than Val-Thar could react, an arrow plunged into his left arm. Val-Thar again faded into the shadows. The elf masters fetched a hound-mounted brownie to sniff him out. In the shadows, Val-Thar removed the arrow and instantly healed the wound. He was enraged on taking such a hit. Val-Thar appeared from the tree-line offering an open challenge to the elf masters. The first to accept was armed with a short spear. The elf master’s skills were second to none. But still, the might of the Lord of Darkness proved too strong and the elf fell to the mighty sword of the Lord of Darkness. The last elf lord approached, armed with two round shields sporting razor sharp blades on their leading edges. Val-Thar engaged his foe. Unknown to Val-Thar, this elf master was a renowned fighting teacher of the Otherworld. He had vetted 200 all Hallows Battles, far and wide he was both feared and revered. However, Val-Thar now gave him the fight of his life. The elf master was astonished by this lad’s skill. The elf master whirled his shields around in lightning fast arcs. Then, one shield slashed through Val-Thar’s mid section. Val-Thar stepped back stunned. As the wound healed the elf master then knew his enemy, “The Lord of Darkness!” Val-Thar charged of fury with a blow beyond mortal strength, splintered the elf masters left shield. Val-Thar summoned all the powers of darkness and plunged the entire clearing into an opaque velvety blackness which only his silvery eyes could pierce. In one swift motion, Val-Thar ran the elf master through the heart. The hound riding brownie fled, but did not make it far from Val-Thar’s wrath. Finding a spear by a fallen elf, Val-Thar thrust it into the fleeing brownie, impaling the elf to a tree trunk. The hound fled for the Otherworld yelping and baying in fear. When the fight ended, Val-Thar spited himself again for being so careless. |
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dig-site and dozes off in the woods, dreaming as always of another time and place, and memories there he can’t quite seem to put his finger on. When he awakes, he is in the past in ancient Ireland, with no idea how he will get by! Somehow, he stumbles onto his Destiny in the town of Erui where he meets a barkeep named Paddy and his wife Maude, who take him in. He then meets their daughter, green-eyed Rowena, and sparks fly as she dances, charming him. She helps him acquire work, appropriate clothing, and the currency of the period so he’ll fit in. While on an errand one day, Rowena and Ferrin encounter a Druid called Wolf, who seems oddly familiar. During their time together, Wolf tells them the tale of Destiny’s Warriors. He enlightens Ferrin with the story of two royal brothers from the Underworld a realm of winter and their journey into the forbidden Otherworld of perpetual summer, where they engage in mischief as young men will do. They encounter three sisters which spark a path of betrayal, murderous plots and revenge. What ensues is an exhilarating journey into forbidden love, the horrors of human sacrifice, dealing with enchanted warriors, battles and wars won and lost within the hearts and boundaries of ancient Ireland. Destiny’s Warriors inspires its readers to empathize with the difficult decisions these ancient souls had to make in their lives. Should they be true to their own hearts, or the strict rules of their forefathers, while trying to survive in an ancient, harsh world of Druids, Driads, Elves, Faeries and many other wonderful and horrible, ethereal and eerie creatures? Ferrin begins to remember, gradually, his true identity as he awakens to the possibility of his life being more than he ever thought possible in this legendary tale. In the end, he must also choose whether to go along as before, or be true to his own heart. Excerpt: While the crowd’s attention was focused on the sacrificial ritual taking place before them on the altar, Shovar could no longer hold his disguise. Anouxia’s potion and magic were strong, but not stronger than his lust for quickening. Receiving the quickening, Shovar transformed himself. In full view of the Celts, he manifested his identity as Lord of Death. Streams of light flashed between the victim on the altar and Shovar. Druids knelt in fear before the now transformed white skinned, hooded figure, The Lord of Death. Shovar’s body quaked with ecstasy as the power of the sacrificial quickening entered him. His piercing silver-gray eyes glowed with energy. Shovar turned to the crowd in drunken revelry; pointing his finger reminding them all that he held the power of death over them, taking whom he would, young or old, when he would and where he would. The now sober crowd, fell upon their faces in submission to the Lord of Death wailing and pleading to be spared. Shovar laughed cruelly reminding them of the bravery and courage one little maiden possessed as compared with the spinelessness of the cursed Celts pleading before him. He scolded them saying, “Worthless Celts! You are swine! You cringe at death. None of you are brave enough to save your own lives in battle, yet you sacrifice a young maiden hoping to spare yourselves a poor harvest. You are to be pitied, cowards! I will come for each of you in my own good time. Remember that!” With this, the Lord of Death vanished into the night of the forest. His words hung like clanging bells in the air. No one moved, fearing he might return. The mood changed from celebration to somber fear which gripped each man’s heart with hoops of cold steel. Scroll down to read more excerpts from Destiny's Warriors |
| Warning: Destiny's Warriors is not recommended for children under 16 years of age due to mature Subject matter and Violence! Read synopsis and other information as you scroll down. |
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Ragnarok and his henchmen entered the enormous chamber, as the crowd roared from spectator stands that overlooked the arena. Far above the arena floor rotted corpses hung from great stalactites. The entryways were well guarded by four-foot tall creatures who wore black leather druid cloaks. These minions of evil were the Shrouds of Ifrinn. Any soul unlucky enough to be enveloped in its cloak would live for all eternity as a tortured captive. The shroud was a kind of one-way gate into the realm of nightmares. The shrouds acted as guardians and servants to the Lord of Evil. Rosilda looked about her as the spectators stomped their feet and chanted in tumultuous roar for the contest to begin. She looked out to Ragnarok, who blew her a kiss. She smiled as she stood up and gestured toward Ragnarok she caught his kiss. She sat down and sighed. She was still disturbed because Ragnarok had shouted at her, irritated with her demands for attention. She thought of Saba, who constantly told her that all men were the same. Saba often stressed all men only thought of themselves. Rosilda looked down at her hand. The gold ring with delicate designs which Ragnarok had given her was the most beautiful gift she had ever received. She realized her dreams of power and wealth were within her grasp. Ragnarok loves me. He would do anything for me. Therefore, I must not be so demanding of him, yet I must maintain control or he’ll betray me just like Gwydion did. A large Grimlock entered the arena to announce the day’s contests, bringing the audience to silence. Ragnarok looked around the arena, enjoying the attention the spectators afforded him. He had remained undefeated and it bothered him his challengers might fear him for his powers. The contestants might not be displaying their best effort, fearful of the consequences befalling a contestant defeating the Lord of Evil. To many, he realized death was a better option than the curse of living with evil. He looked at Midhe and Gawain, thinking, Gawain, is it possible that your challengers only put on a show, and willingly die by your hand than to live with the touch of fear? Midhe, your powers of anguish could cause crippling with great pain and suffering beyond imagination. Your challenger would certainly prefer death. Ragnarok sighed as they called out Midhe to compete first. Across from Midhe stood an evil elf with a spear and shield at the ready. Midhe smiled contemptuously at the battle hardened elf. Midhe did not bother to withdraw his bronze skull, topped mace. The brave elf took a defensive stance and inched his way toward Midhe who did not even raise his guard. The elf’s strong physique was formidable. Accentuating his appearance, the elf wore a killer expression in his red eyes. Midhe raised his right hand and suddenly the elf’s vision blurred. He lost his concentration as his mind throbbed with confusion as a sudden migraine overtook him. The elf regained his wits and advanced closer to Midhe using the strategy of closing and driving as hunters close on game. Midhe continued. The elf’s high pitched squeal filled the arena and as terrible pain shot through his head. Every one of his teeth sent agonizing hot stings into his brain. The crowed watched confused by the elf’s strange behavior. Midhe gritted his teeth and unleashed more of his terrible power. The elf’s legs and neck cramped causing him to fall to his knees. His stomach turned with violent nausea. Midhe stood above the elf, “Death is not the worse thing, elfling.” Ragnarok shook his head as he watched, realizing what Midhe was doing. Ragnarok angrily addressed Gawain, “This is why we have no worthy opponents. Look there at our challengers watching Midhe’s display. Don’t you see our opponents would rather die than to suffer to so great an extent? I want the fight! I want the satisfaction of a real fight!” Gawain shrugged his shoulders thinking, What use are our powers if we don’t use them, why fight if we don’t have to? Yet, the thrill of a fight is more enjoyable. Ragnarok is right. Midhe circled his opponent. The elf’s eyes burned as though salt had been poured into them. Midhe continued, “Now you understand elfling, better than any other soul in this arena why death is a kind and merciful friend.” The elf had prepared all his life for battle. He was conditioned to absorb the sting of a punch, and the battering of sword blows on his shield. But the pain he now felt was like nothing he had ever known. Midhe shouted, addressing the crowd, “The gift I have given this elfling is appreciation for a warm bed at night, the joy of a woman’s embrace and the value of a sunset over snow capped mountains. This elf now knows why life is precious, even as he begs for death.” Midhe then squatted down in front of the elf, “Can you imagine boy, the rest of your long life with this burden. Peace and health will only be a memory.” Midhe grinned a satisfied grin as he stood, “I will not kill you.” The elf looked up at Midhe with pleading eyes as tears of blood ran upon his cheeks, “Please my lord, you have honor! Finish me!” Rosilda was a tyrant but viewed Midhe with disgust. She stood and shouted, “Foul! Foul I say! This is no match of competition! This is a farce, an arena of torture, there is no honor or competition here!” Midhe turned in a rage, ready to inflict his anguish on beautiful Rosilda. However, Ragnarok entered the arena and said, “Rosilda is right, there is no competition here. Remove your curse on this elf. Fight him like a man and prove your worth!” Infuriated, Midhe protested, “I am the Lord of Anguish! I...” Ragnarok interrupted, “Must you always be so dramatic? Everyone here knows your capabilities. And, everyone here knows they could never best your immortal powers. Our purpose here is to fight and thereby improve our mettle. Our skill in warfare comes not from our immortal powers, but by contest. Bettering ourselves through the study and practice of martial arts, gaining the ability to best an opponent like an elf warrior, is our purpose. Cousin, this use of your power is not fair, it proves nothing.” Midhe sighed, remembering what the competitions were about. He turned to the elf and removed his curse. “All right, stand and defend yourself . . . you and I are warriors and we’ll see who is the best.” Ragnarok turned and joined Gawain as the crowed cheered once again. Midhe took to his stance waiting for the elf to get his wits about him. Once composed, the fight resumed and the elf now angry, fought for revenge. However, within moments the elf lay dead, in a pool of blood. For, even in a fair fight, an elf was no match in a contest with Midhe. Gawain now entered the arena and promised his opponent that it was a contest of skill and he would not use his powers. Midhe desired a real fight and used his skill with a blade to slaughter several Grimlocks. Then it was Ragnarok’s turn. Ragnarok had personally picked his combatant. All gasped in fear as the arena floor trembled with the heavy footfalls of a massive Fomorian. It’s arms were more massive than a mortal man. It wore a necklace made from dragons’ teeth as testament to the dragons it had vanquished over his long life. The Formorian wore human bones tied into the thick hairs of its mane. Ragnarok took his special sword in hand and entered the arena. The roar of the Fomorian rattled the cave walls. The monster lowered its head and aimed its gigantic ram-like horns at Ragnarok. It charged on all fours like a mad gorilla. Ragnarok ran to meet the beast’s charge. The crowd roared with excitement, anticipating the clash of the gladiator contestants. Comparing the stature of the fourteen foot Fomorian with Ragnarok’s lean frame was almost ridiculous. In Ragnarok’s mind, all he could see was his hatred for Gwydion. No victory could satisfy Ragnarok’s thirst for vengeance. He had thrown down the best gladiators the Land of Shadows had to offer. But the only real contest would be his long fantasized fight with Gwydion. Ragnarok dreamed every night of Gwydion’s downfall. He was obsessed with killing his nemesis. The crowed hollered and stomped their feet at the thrill of the fight. Grimlocks howled, and elves shouted with bloodthirsty anticipation. Finally, Ragnarok and the Fomorian met at the center of the arena. Ragnarok moved with inhuman swiftness, his sword slashed with great accuracy. The Fomorian’s mind was too slow to realize what had happened. With several well-placed slashes Ragnarok mortally wounded the beast. It appeared that the fight was over in just seconds. The Fomorian’s body landed on the arena floor with a thud. Ragnarok was angry that victory came so easily, “Is there no worthy opponent!” Ragnarok shouted from the depths of his soul, his bloody sword raised up in fury, “Gwydion!” |
| You can write me at: admin@destinyswarriors.com You can also learn more about me *R.M. Putnam* on the R.M. Putnam page within this site. Thank you for visiting my website. I hope you were pleasantly entertained. R.M. Putnam 2nd book in the Series "The Last Sacrifice" Available on this website, Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, any online book stores or for order at your local book store. The Last Sacrifice is also available on Kindle. |
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| Purchase your copy of Destiny's Warriors *Today * Scroll down and browse through a few of the illustrations from within the pages of Destiny's Warriors and read a synopsis and some excerpts for your further information. Destiny's Warriors is a fantasy novel, first in a series of ten books. Regular retail price $28.95 Purchase your copy today and receive an autographed copy plus free matching book marker Only $18.95 Free Shipping and handling |
| 6.14 X 9.21 744 pages ISBN # 9781432712624 Soft Cover Every copy sold on this website will be autographed by the author. |
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International Self-Published Book Awards
First of a planned series, this time travel novel is very imaginative. The mix of present and the past is well meshed. The ancient Celtic/Druidic lives, customs and ceremonies are vividly and dramatically depicted. Descriptions of fierce battles and bloody human sacrifices are described in riveting and graphic terms. One can easily empathize with the emotions, actions and motives of the characters, both those who are mortal and those described as underworld immortals. The many quotes enliven relationships which give an absorbing glimpse into yesteryear that manages to be ancient in physical description but relatively modern or universal on an emotional basis. Many black and white illustration enhance the gripping tales of love, betrayal and revenge as a broad array of characters pursue their interacting destinies. |