Excerpt from Top Rated Novel, "Rage of Night"

It was a good day to die.

All around Kelgore, men were screaming and burning. Soldiers hacked away at each other under the drumming hail of steel-tipped wooden shafts, while murderous flaming orbs tore through the ranks. It was the hell of war. A war with magic.

There was no strategy, no force of arms, that could prevail against such an enemy. Once magic had been brought to bear, friend and foe alike perished before the sweeping storm of arcane energy.

All except Kelgore.

Kelgore was a Mageslayer. He knew what to do to survive, what to look for to stay clear of the magic, and how to eliminate the threat itself. He raised his sword and charged.

He kept his shield high and plunged back into the ranks of warring men, slipping through the storm of steel, seeking his target.

Every time his blade lashed out, a man fell. Every time a weapon came his way, Kel smoothly avoided the blow, then dealt quick death to his attacker. He was more than a Blademaster, more than any assassin. He was the Mageslayer.

He was untouchable. He felt the flow of the battle, let it suffuse him, and was one with it. He was the heart of chaos.

Another screaming ball of flaming death exploded off to the right, throwing bodies through the air like shrapnel.

Kel took note of which way the devil spell had come from. It told him he was close. Very close.

Glaring through the darkness, between the smoke and steel, he caught sight of a swirl of fabric. Kel smiled the evil smile.

Got you, he thought.

He sprang into a dead run, dismissing from his mind the battle raging all around. He dodged pairs of warriors squaring off. He jumped over bloody corpses, sidestepped errant swings, and slipped between advancing groups intent on mutual annihilation. He was focused on one thing only: crossing the distance between him and the damned Wizard as fast as possible.

With two quick strokes, Kel dispatched the last of the soldiers between him and his prey. He caught sight of his target just a few yards distant weaving another lethal incantation in a clear space, all alone; anyone too close when a spell ignited could be drawn in and obliterated by the unfolding magic.

The Wizard wore robes only, but Kel knew that a mage's robes were better protection than even the best plate armor. They were woven with intricate sigils and runes that invoked magical protections, and that was just the beginning. They were enchanted with a unique array of devious defenses, which made any attempt to take down an enemy mage an unpredictable and dangerous enterprise.

Kel relished the challenge. He lived for it.

This man's robes marked him as a member of the Brown Brotherhood, those who practiced transmutation, the art of changing one element into another. In war, that usually meant transforming Air into flaming death.

The Brown Wizard loosed his newest creation, sending it forth to extinguish more lives. It was both deathblow and funeral pyre.

But, for a short time - the span of a single heartbeat - the Wizard would be vulnerable. That one heartbeat was a thin sliver of time, but was more than Kel needed.

As the arcane energies blasted from the Brown Brother's fingers, Kel vaulted into the Wizard's circle.

Don't hesitate, he told himself, hesitation is death. It invites the enemy to strike you down.

Kel's heart beat as he began his charge.

He came in from the side, at the very edge of the Wizard's peripheral vision. As he thundered across the distance like unleashed lightning, he whipped out the knife he reserved for only the most wicked of the Gods' creations: Wizards who used their talents for dealing death.

It was time. Kel let loose the beast within, the heart of his anger, focusing it into a lethal rage.

Kel's comrades, who, even now, fought the enemy horde, were all men of worth. They defended the free peoples of the Kingdom against every threat. They were, each and every one of them, someone's son or father, brother or husband. Every one of their lives, sworn in service to the King, was precious to someone.

And this arrogant spell-hurling son of a demon-spawned whore was killing them.

The spark of Kel's anger exploded to a new plateau of fury.

He raced across the distance, making sure his grip was firm, his blade clear. The weapon he carried was no ordinary knife; Wizards were warded against both steel and sorcery. For that reason, Kel did not slay with either spell or steel.

The vaunted magical protections of Wizards could not stop him. His was a blade of base obsidian.

Even a Wizard can never protect himself against everything. He can bleed, like any other man, if you can strike him. And he will die, like any other man - if you can kill him. And that is exactly what Kel meant to do.

As Kel crossed the final pace to his target, he saw awareness dawn in his enemy's eyes. The Brown Brother turned towards Kel and raised his hands in a futile attempt to stave off the coming deathblow.

Kel grinned to himself, thinking, You are mine.

Time slowed to a crawl. The last instant of that one moment expanded into an eternity.

In that tiny span of time, Kel could see the telltale twinkle in the man's eyes as he sought the Power within. Sparks danced between his fingertips, each one seeming to hang forever in the air. The man might as well have been a statue. He had no chance.

Kel darted to the right, and struck. He powered the swing with all of his own pent up anger, his rage, his fury. This Wizard was responsible for the loss of uncountable lives. He had broken his solemn vows as a Wizard, and had committed treason not only against his King, but against the people he had taken an oath to protect. He had betrayed the cause of freedom, of life itself. The penalty for any one of these crimes was death.

Kel poured it all into his swing, and let it fly.

Kelgore was Vengeance incarnate. He was Judgment. He was the Mageslayer.

Let the bastard feel my wrath.

The blade bit through the soft leather beneath the man's shoulder, sliding between his ribs with a smooth grace. It came to rest deep inside. The Mageslayer felt the blade shatter.

Kel's heart beat once again.

Time resumed its normal flow as the Brown Wizard collapsed, dead at Kel's feet. The unformed spell died on his lips.

Kel savored his kill, but not for the joy of the act itself. He killed for those who could not, and those who could not any longer. He took life away from one to save those of others. He was a guardian, a protector, a servant of the innocent.

He invoked death to protect life. In that way, he was a mage in his own right, calling forth a Power from deep within to do what no one else could. He killed without hesitation, without mercy, and without regret. He did what had to be done.

Kel turned around, toward where the fires of war still raged on. There was more work yet for him to do.