Excerpt for The Dispersal, Part I: Narixan Conquest by , available in its entirety at Smashwords


Part 1

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 by Greg M. Hall


Smashwords Edition License Notes: Share this story as you wish, but if you use the characters or settings for your own work, please give me proper credit.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

Cover Photo by Joshua Fuller on Unsplash


Other Smashwords Ebooks by Greg M. Hall

Traffic Control (Action)

Stunted (Fantasy)

Closure (Fantasy)

Identity Theft (Fantasy)

Rick’s Hostage (Horror)

The Gig (Horror)

Night Sentry (Horror)

My Pal The Bug #1: For They Know Not… (Sci-Fi)

My Pal The Bug #2: Drug Lab of Death (Sci-Fi)

My Pal The Bug #3: Bait (Sci-Fi)

The Water Peddlers (Sci-Fi)

City of Light (Sci-Fi)

The Epicenter (Sci-Fi)

Martian Water (Sci-Fi)

Revival (Sci-Fi)

The War Where Nobody Died (Sci-Fi)

Meet n’ Greet (Sci-Fi)


Your leaders chose to turn their backs on the Empire!”

The Stentor’s voice boomed across the rolling hills. On its heels came that of a translator, less loud, stringing together unintelligible syllables as Toval used the point of his sword to prod the cheek of the Narixan at his feet. A flinch crossed the fallen soldier’s stone-cold features, half-closed eyes squinting and too-wide nostrils flaring.

“Might have one here,” he said over his shoulder.

Portius drew alongside and grunted. He kicked at the man’s arm, then stooped and lifted the scales of armor that covered his gut.

We warned you of the penalties of insurrection!”

“Oofh. Something important is leaking in there. Pike wound, most likely.” Portius, too young to be Toval’s father but too old to be a brother, shook his head. “This chap’s done for. Give him the mercy and move on to one who’s got a chance.”

Toval grimaced at the declaration. This would only be the second mercy he’d dealt—and the first had gone very badly. But an Imperial soldier didn’t question orders. More importantly, no Cardiran questioned his elder, Imperial soldier or not.

An arrow’s flight away, the Stentor, oblivious to the young soldier’s dry mouth and hammering heart, continued his condemnation: “The State of Narixa is no more! Your families will be relocated to the far corners of the Empire, never to return, and your soldiers will man the Exile Brigades!”

Unlike his prior subject, who reached up with both hands to ward off the point of Toval’s weapon, this one did little more than flinch when the young soldier positioned the sword at his jugular and thrust. Far less blood than he expected spurted out.

He drew the back of his hand across his brow and turned his attention to the throng of defeated Narixans, their remaining soldiers standing in ranks at attention, their civilians huddled together in fear on the other side of the road. They shared a hue darker than most of the Imperial Citizens they’d be rejoining; hair colors ranged from umber to jet, while most possessed olive or tan complexions. The darkness of their skin made the pale irises of their eyes stand out as they watched the Stentor, who stood in the back of a supply-wagon, reading the Empire’s judgment over them.

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