Kevin h's Blog
November 4, 2018
Another one of those excerpts
So I was working for a while on two stories at the same time. What writer doesn't? Having finished one in September, the next is ready. The fifth book in the Dark and the White series is Blood in the Mother's Soil. And here is a bit of it...
Awash in the currents of the world, a flutter of black feathers carried the crow on the western winds. She was like a black spear, weightless and ominous from above. Beneath the slow beat of her wings she harbored the many legends of yore. The sun blazed overhead and the tips of the endless mountains rose like the broken teeth of the wild beast. Across the pastures and the towns the crow drifted, seeing all below on the rich green earth as the people toiled and the day began. The rivers flowed, the graceful deer ran, the grass whispered. And the mountains loomed close, closer.
The crow did not come. The crow was sent. Between the teeth she fell with a flap of her wings and a call to the people of the Westland, the fallen would be reborn. A black prayer on a white canvas, she soared downward on the face of a mighty snow capped peak as a messenger from that place betwixt the realms of life and death.
Another bitter shriek to curse the dark places and draw the light from the soil and the rivers. The spirits woke, the ghosts wailed, and in the early hours of the great sun rising, the waters of the White river shone with the tears of the Xana who tasted blood rain from the mountain of the south.
Death had come in the night. On the mid summer's night under the cool of the blue moon rising, blood was soaking in the earth. Screams and torment broke the still of the late hour. War and black murder chased the light away and it sped like a lightning bolt sent from the top of the mountain home to the very heavens above. The temple of the Moon Priestess sent her message to the Goddess “We are coming home.”
And in blood and tears a new river made a path from the mountain side to the lands below. It wound and tumbled ever seeking a way to the lowland places where the people waited. It was a letter written in the life and death of the Temple. For many a long year beyond the memory of all living peoples the Moon Priestess were the guardians of justice and light. And the arc of justice is strong, the people said. The Moon Priestess were sacred, could walk through a battle and emerge unscathed on the other side. All life within the Temple, all who wore the White robe were sacrosanct, until the darkness fell and robbed the people of the light. Justice, you see, was a fragile thing. And once under threat, like a snow flake, it could break in the malicious hand never to return. Never again would the people see it’s like, much like a snow flake it was pure and unique. One day they would need seek another way. That is a long road fraught with struggle and the bloodied hands of many.
And those people In some distant time hence would know from the lips of their frightened elders “We did not fight for it, and then we lost it.”
The crow rose from the rolling green hills of the lands below, carried South on those black wings until she came to the southern wall of the mountains where the hot lands of the Nasser burned the ground to dust. And at the face of the mountain home of the Moon Priestess, she rose again with a pained shriek as she saw with her dark eyes the lesson evil had wrought.
Upon the shaft of a spear buried deep in the smoking ruins of the battle ravaged earth, the crow landed with nary a sound to betray her presence.
Accursed is the land littered with dead.
Her dark eyes roamed the lands of the Temple and took in what would one day be the ruin of mankind. It was to become a story of wanton death and destruction. This was the first chapter in that new story. Beneath the crow the many hundred of the priestess lay scattered like the leaves of the autumn tree, bathed in rust and the slow presence of decay. The invaders salted the earth so nothing may grow again. They lit fires left to burn the ashes of the Temple lore. In their arrogance they left the dying to die in the night, uttering prayer, invoking their vows.
But the crow was sent. And sent on the wings of the prayers spoken by the dead. She wandered the hillside, over dead bodies amid the burning temple and shrine, until she came to the one. A lady, daughter of the high priestess, fallen with a sword in her back from where her life had spilled. In vain she sought to save the life of another. She was the one, this slender woman dared refuse the final rest in the halls of the dead. Something held her back. When the final words in the last chapter of her life were written in blood, this young woman had more to say. Such a fate has only ever been granted to one. The crow watched her carefully, gazed at the contours of her elegant face, saw the echo of her pain. Her skin was ice, her eyes were pale, yet the grim hand of death could not touch her. This was the one.
Life was to rise, one more time. The Lady stirred, her gentle blue eyes came alive with color and the wash of pained tears as she saw all that was laid to ruin before her. She crept forward onto her knees with her hands covering her face. It was to shield her from the horror all around. She cried aloud, giving voice to all the anguish and soul scarred suffering she held within. And then she heard the call of the crow, some way off, amid broken rocks smoldering with the heat from the invader’s fires. To those rocks she dashed, stumbling barefoot without fear or notice given to the pain of bloodied feet on the scorched earth. She was so pale against the backdrop of smoke ruined air and battle. She looked like the lonely ghost adrift among the dead. Amid those rocks, her sister wailed miserably. A young girl with the gift of long red hair. Shoshanna, a sister initiate brought to the Temple one summer ago.
Her lips moved without a sound, lest somehow this be a dream and the noise would shatter her own illusion “Lady Karis,” she whispered, as she held her arms close to her chest where the death blow had fallen. Her white robe was bloodied and her almond eyes were wide, blood freckles sprinkled on the gentle curve of her nose. The girl hung close to madness as sanity was a cruel master this day. She was so young, and before her eyes she had seen a lifetime of horror in mere moments.
“Is it a curse? Surely we are cursed. The halls have refused us for what offense I could not say.” Yao stood shaking her head. Her dark hair was mussed and her white robe turned to waste near the ashes of the fire where her dead body was thrown. Yet steel was in her chocolate eyes as she spoke, first in her mind was the loss of the dead, and second in her heart was the call for justice.
“Our Lady refused the halls,” Karis replied. Those words should inspire, like a flag basking in the sun before the glory of battle. How hollow they sounded now.
Yao stood there with her hair a flutter in the acrid smoky morning breeze for a long time before she said anything , and when she finally did speak she said this “ Never that we were refused, Lady. That is not the curse I speak of. It is a curse upon the living to remain behind to see all that is lost. That is our curse to bear all the long days of our lives yet to be lived. I loved them even if I did not know them yet seeing what I see now I would not trade my place with any of them. Is it a selfish thing, to not want to be here to see this?”
“Lady!” Shoshanna was rocking back and forth in terror “We died. I know we did. I remember the pain and the… the laughter and the screams…”
“Hush child, it was but yesterday and now is today.”
“Lady, today is for justice!”
Awash in the currents of the world, a flutter of black feathers carried the crow on the western winds. She was like a black spear, weightless and ominous from above. Beneath the slow beat of her wings she harbored the many legends of yore. The sun blazed overhead and the tips of the endless mountains rose like the broken teeth of the wild beast. Across the pastures and the towns the crow drifted, seeing all below on the rich green earth as the people toiled and the day began. The rivers flowed, the graceful deer ran, the grass whispered. And the mountains loomed close, closer.
The crow did not come. The crow was sent. Between the teeth she fell with a flap of her wings and a call to the people of the Westland, the fallen would be reborn. A black prayer on a white canvas, she soared downward on the face of a mighty snow capped peak as a messenger from that place betwixt the realms of life and death.
Another bitter shriek to curse the dark places and draw the light from the soil and the rivers. The spirits woke, the ghosts wailed, and in the early hours of the great sun rising, the waters of the White river shone with the tears of the Xana who tasted blood rain from the mountain of the south.
Death had come in the night. On the mid summer's night under the cool of the blue moon rising, blood was soaking in the earth. Screams and torment broke the still of the late hour. War and black murder chased the light away and it sped like a lightning bolt sent from the top of the mountain home to the very heavens above. The temple of the Moon Priestess sent her message to the Goddess “We are coming home.”
And in blood and tears a new river made a path from the mountain side to the lands below. It wound and tumbled ever seeking a way to the lowland places where the people waited. It was a letter written in the life and death of the Temple. For many a long year beyond the memory of all living peoples the Moon Priestess were the guardians of justice and light. And the arc of justice is strong, the people said. The Moon Priestess were sacred, could walk through a battle and emerge unscathed on the other side. All life within the Temple, all who wore the White robe were sacrosanct, until the darkness fell and robbed the people of the light. Justice, you see, was a fragile thing. And once under threat, like a snow flake, it could break in the malicious hand never to return. Never again would the people see it’s like, much like a snow flake it was pure and unique. One day they would need seek another way. That is a long road fraught with struggle and the bloodied hands of many.
And those people In some distant time hence would know from the lips of their frightened elders “We did not fight for it, and then we lost it.”
The crow rose from the rolling green hills of the lands below, carried South on those black wings until she came to the southern wall of the mountains where the hot lands of the Nasser burned the ground to dust. And at the face of the mountain home of the Moon Priestess, she rose again with a pained shriek as she saw with her dark eyes the lesson evil had wrought.
Upon the shaft of a spear buried deep in the smoking ruins of the battle ravaged earth, the crow landed with nary a sound to betray her presence.
Accursed is the land littered with dead.
Her dark eyes roamed the lands of the Temple and took in what would one day be the ruin of mankind. It was to become a story of wanton death and destruction. This was the first chapter in that new story. Beneath the crow the many hundred of the priestess lay scattered like the leaves of the autumn tree, bathed in rust and the slow presence of decay. The invaders salted the earth so nothing may grow again. They lit fires left to burn the ashes of the Temple lore. In their arrogance they left the dying to die in the night, uttering prayer, invoking their vows.
But the crow was sent. And sent on the wings of the prayers spoken by the dead. She wandered the hillside, over dead bodies amid the burning temple and shrine, until she came to the one. A lady, daughter of the high priestess, fallen with a sword in her back from where her life had spilled. In vain she sought to save the life of another. She was the one, this slender woman dared refuse the final rest in the halls of the dead. Something held her back. When the final words in the last chapter of her life were written in blood, this young woman had more to say. Such a fate has only ever been granted to one. The crow watched her carefully, gazed at the contours of her elegant face, saw the echo of her pain. Her skin was ice, her eyes were pale, yet the grim hand of death could not touch her. This was the one.
Life was to rise, one more time. The Lady stirred, her gentle blue eyes came alive with color and the wash of pained tears as she saw all that was laid to ruin before her. She crept forward onto her knees with her hands covering her face. It was to shield her from the horror all around. She cried aloud, giving voice to all the anguish and soul scarred suffering she held within. And then she heard the call of the crow, some way off, amid broken rocks smoldering with the heat from the invader’s fires. To those rocks she dashed, stumbling barefoot without fear or notice given to the pain of bloodied feet on the scorched earth. She was so pale against the backdrop of smoke ruined air and battle. She looked like the lonely ghost adrift among the dead. Amid those rocks, her sister wailed miserably. A young girl with the gift of long red hair. Shoshanna, a sister initiate brought to the Temple one summer ago.
Her lips moved without a sound, lest somehow this be a dream and the noise would shatter her own illusion “Lady Karis,” she whispered, as she held her arms close to her chest where the death blow had fallen. Her white robe was bloodied and her almond eyes were wide, blood freckles sprinkled on the gentle curve of her nose. The girl hung close to madness as sanity was a cruel master this day. She was so young, and before her eyes she had seen a lifetime of horror in mere moments.
“Is it a curse? Surely we are cursed. The halls have refused us for what offense I could not say.” Yao stood shaking her head. Her dark hair was mussed and her white robe turned to waste near the ashes of the fire where her dead body was thrown. Yet steel was in her chocolate eyes as she spoke, first in her mind was the loss of the dead, and second in her heart was the call for justice.
“Our Lady refused the halls,” Karis replied. Those words should inspire, like a flag basking in the sun before the glory of battle. How hollow they sounded now.
Yao stood there with her hair a flutter in the acrid smoky morning breeze for a long time before she said anything , and when she finally did speak she said this “ Never that we were refused, Lady. That is not the curse I speak of. It is a curse upon the living to remain behind to see all that is lost. That is our curse to bear all the long days of our lives yet to be lived. I loved them even if I did not know them yet seeing what I see now I would not trade my place with any of them. Is it a selfish thing, to not want to be here to see this?”
“Lady!” Shoshanna was rocking back and forth in terror “We died. I know we did. I remember the pain and the… the laughter and the screams…”
“Hush child, it was but yesterday and now is today.”
“Lady, today is for justice!”
September 2, 2018
Liquid Gold
The 4th book in the Dark and the White series was published late last night, on this very special 4 day weekend. Hi America, we should do this more often.
I digress. This time around the language got a bit strong, or colorful, or shameful depending on how terribly polite you are, and whether or not you have ever accidentally touched a hot stove top.
Still digressing.
Anyway, here's a bit of it
“Heavens, but I would wrestle a shark for a nice salty pound of bacon.”
Diedre’s husband watching eye landed ruefully on him, “Per chance you could unearth some of the vast fortune buried around the hut, or secreted in the walls, take it to the mainland and barter for something nice to eat?”
Corben rubbed a hand over his sweat damp face, “It is just as I said, my dear, the King’s customs agents have been sniffing around like flies on a corpse. They know we can’t pay our taxes and now they suspect we haven’t bothered trying. They think we have more than we do, and what with Jocky getting himself nabbed…!”
“We have more than their bloody King does!” Diedre snapped. “Everybody on this island has been ferreting away treasures they drag from the ocean floor, or wash up on the beach. We’ve been at it for many a long year. And everything we get we hide it. Enough is enough already. Last night I had to rebury a gem the size of my fist because I stubbed my toe on it in the night!”
“It’s the principle,” he rolled his eyes, wincing at the thought of what he just did. His wife only had one eye functioning properly, so rolling them in front of her was an additional slight. The arms crossed her chest and the one foot tapped slightly on the bare floor.
“What principle?”
Corben looked at his hands while he spoke, knowing well her fury and the sound of her speaking through gnashed teeth “Tax this, tax that! We live on the arse end of nowhere and they do precious little for us, so we do for our own. They’re not entitled to come here harassing us for a share just so they can spend it on luxuries for themselves.”
“And how do we benefit, husband?” with every perceived bit of injustice, Diedre’s temper cranked up to another level “The King and his cronies might have luxuries and a royal arse wiper if the stories are true, but we’ve got everything and nothing at the same time. I wanted some curtains to hang in the windows for the summer. You told me the King was instituting a curtain tax! I wanted some perfume for when we go to the dance halls. You told me to go roll around in the sea!”
“We live by the sea,” he protested meekly “Everything smells like it anyway.”
“Not the bloody point, sunshine of my life. Either you buy your lovely wife something nice or you’ll wake up in the morn with something missing!”
“If we display wealth they can sniff it out, those customs vultures,” he felt the confidence of justice blowing a wind at his back as he stood, towering over his diminutive wife. “We had a town meeting about it, the MacQuarrie private wealth act. Do you mind of it? No taxation without representation!”
“In the pub? After hours? During the great night of the no women allowed, lock in?”
“That’s the one!” he bellowed “Heck, imagine the time. Must dash!” He slapped a wet kiss on his beloved’s cheek, snapped his checkered bonnet up on the way out the door and took off running for his fishing boat docked by the shore. As he ran, thoughts and possibilities whipped around in his head: customs inspector’s monthly visit now two days overdue, light house now broken and how long before someone spotted it, the darling wife was acting up, and how did I end up in this mess? One word came crashing through the mix: MacQuarrie!
He was there, when Corben arrived half out of breath at the dock, his best friend and fishing partner was lounging by the side of the boat chewing on a stem of grass “What keptcha?” He asked nonchalantly staring out at the waves tumbling onto the shore. Corben was taken back at the vision of peace, how MacQuarrie could stand in the eye of the storm and chew grass like it didn’t matter.
“It’s happening,” Corben shook his head in dismay.
“The Falcon has heard the falconer?”
Corben smacked his head loudly with his hand “You know I hate the stupid codes! Can we not just say the wifies are wanting to spend money? Look about! There’s nobody here but us.”
“Oh, Corbs, my wayward son. You’re a decent fellow, I’ll give you that. But you haven’t a clue about life, have you pal?” His friend stood there looking annoyed, so he went on anyway “First off, a wife can hear her man talking from almost a hundred yards away.”
“Balls,” Corben scoffed.
“It’s true,” MacQuarrie shot back. “Did you not pay attention in school when they were talking about the natural world?”
Corben mulled the thought of what lesson he might be talking about, remembering their days at school as mostly being about getting into trouble and ogling the girls.
“The social evolution of gender based society,” MacQuarrie snapped his fingers to get his friend’s attention. “Mind when we were wee boys, we used to hook sea weed on a stick and chase the lassies with it?”
Corben chuckled quietly at the memory of it. “We told them it was whale shit and whoever got it on them would have ten years of getting called the clatty ghoul.”
“That’s right, Isabel Lords still gets called that sometimes, and we’re in our thirties now.” MacQuarrie paused to snicker. “But that’s how it works, eh. See, the women folk were being coddled by their fathers as wee dainty things too pretty to play in the muck. They got wee dollies made for them so they could learn to be good mothers. They learned to love and care for things and pay special attention to the needs of everything about them.”
“While we learned to be a bunch of mad fuckers?”
“That’s right Corbs. So, when someone tells you a woman can hear the voice of her man a league away, don’t doubt it mate. That’s nature.”
I digress. This time around the language got a bit strong, or colorful, or shameful depending on how terribly polite you are, and whether or not you have ever accidentally touched a hot stove top.
Still digressing.
Anyway, here's a bit of it
“Heavens, but I would wrestle a shark for a nice salty pound of bacon.”
Diedre’s husband watching eye landed ruefully on him, “Per chance you could unearth some of the vast fortune buried around the hut, or secreted in the walls, take it to the mainland and barter for something nice to eat?”
Corben rubbed a hand over his sweat damp face, “It is just as I said, my dear, the King’s customs agents have been sniffing around like flies on a corpse. They know we can’t pay our taxes and now they suspect we haven’t bothered trying. They think we have more than we do, and what with Jocky getting himself nabbed…!”
“We have more than their bloody King does!” Diedre snapped. “Everybody on this island has been ferreting away treasures they drag from the ocean floor, or wash up on the beach. We’ve been at it for many a long year. And everything we get we hide it. Enough is enough already. Last night I had to rebury a gem the size of my fist because I stubbed my toe on it in the night!”
“It’s the principle,” he rolled his eyes, wincing at the thought of what he just did. His wife only had one eye functioning properly, so rolling them in front of her was an additional slight. The arms crossed her chest and the one foot tapped slightly on the bare floor.
“What principle?”
Corben looked at his hands while he spoke, knowing well her fury and the sound of her speaking through gnashed teeth “Tax this, tax that! We live on the arse end of nowhere and they do precious little for us, so we do for our own. They’re not entitled to come here harassing us for a share just so they can spend it on luxuries for themselves.”
“And how do we benefit, husband?” with every perceived bit of injustice, Diedre’s temper cranked up to another level “The King and his cronies might have luxuries and a royal arse wiper if the stories are true, but we’ve got everything and nothing at the same time. I wanted some curtains to hang in the windows for the summer. You told me the King was instituting a curtain tax! I wanted some perfume for when we go to the dance halls. You told me to go roll around in the sea!”
“We live by the sea,” he protested meekly “Everything smells like it anyway.”
“Not the bloody point, sunshine of my life. Either you buy your lovely wife something nice or you’ll wake up in the morn with something missing!”
“If we display wealth they can sniff it out, those customs vultures,” he felt the confidence of justice blowing a wind at his back as he stood, towering over his diminutive wife. “We had a town meeting about it, the MacQuarrie private wealth act. Do you mind of it? No taxation without representation!”
“In the pub? After hours? During the great night of the no women allowed, lock in?”
“That’s the one!” he bellowed “Heck, imagine the time. Must dash!” He slapped a wet kiss on his beloved’s cheek, snapped his checkered bonnet up on the way out the door and took off running for his fishing boat docked by the shore. As he ran, thoughts and possibilities whipped around in his head: customs inspector’s monthly visit now two days overdue, light house now broken and how long before someone spotted it, the darling wife was acting up, and how did I end up in this mess? One word came crashing through the mix: MacQuarrie!
He was there, when Corben arrived half out of breath at the dock, his best friend and fishing partner was lounging by the side of the boat chewing on a stem of grass “What keptcha?” He asked nonchalantly staring out at the waves tumbling onto the shore. Corben was taken back at the vision of peace, how MacQuarrie could stand in the eye of the storm and chew grass like it didn’t matter.
“It’s happening,” Corben shook his head in dismay.
“The Falcon has heard the falconer?”
Corben smacked his head loudly with his hand “You know I hate the stupid codes! Can we not just say the wifies are wanting to spend money? Look about! There’s nobody here but us.”
“Oh, Corbs, my wayward son. You’re a decent fellow, I’ll give you that. But you haven’t a clue about life, have you pal?” His friend stood there looking annoyed, so he went on anyway “First off, a wife can hear her man talking from almost a hundred yards away.”
“Balls,” Corben scoffed.
“It’s true,” MacQuarrie shot back. “Did you not pay attention in school when they were talking about the natural world?”
Corben mulled the thought of what lesson he might be talking about, remembering their days at school as mostly being about getting into trouble and ogling the girls.
“The social evolution of gender based society,” MacQuarrie snapped his fingers to get his friend’s attention. “Mind when we were wee boys, we used to hook sea weed on a stick and chase the lassies with it?”
Corben chuckled quietly at the memory of it. “We told them it was whale shit and whoever got it on them would have ten years of getting called the clatty ghoul.”
“That’s right, Isabel Lords still gets called that sometimes, and we’re in our thirties now.” MacQuarrie paused to snicker. “But that’s how it works, eh. See, the women folk were being coddled by their fathers as wee dainty things too pretty to play in the muck. They got wee dollies made for them so they could learn to be good mothers. They learned to love and care for things and pay special attention to the needs of everything about them.”
“While we learned to be a bunch of mad fuckers?”
“That’s right Corbs. So, when someone tells you a woman can hear the voice of her man a league away, don’t doubt it mate. That’s nature.”
July 20, 2018
A Hazy State Of Separation
I have more or less forgotten the books still enrolled in KDP. That whole amazon exclusivity thingy seemed like a good idea at the time, but not so much anymore. Switching to draft 2 digital was easy and allows for a much wider distribution of e books. Then I realized it was scary and I ran away. Haven't looked at it for at least three months now.
Anyway, since this story is still in KDP, I thought to use some of those free book days. This will be free tomorrow and for a couple of days after that.
Here's the link
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00...
Anyway, since this story is still in KDP, I thought to use some of those free book days. This will be free tomorrow and for a couple of days after that.
Here's the link
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00...
July 1, 2018
The importance of the reading sock
So everyone has weird habits, right? Put away your judgey face. I know you are at it, too. Anyway, I have a special sock I keep on my free hand while I read. No meaning. Just a bit of a thing. And sometimes I like to have a nice cup of tea while I'm reading a good book. Those things go together really well, and if you stick your pinky out, it's even better.
So, having forgotten all about the last time, I went into the kitchen forgetting to take my reading sock off my hand, made a cup of tea, and spilled a trail of tea all over the floor. Had to clean it quick before the wifey got annoyed at me, again. This time i got away with it.
But a great idea came to me then! You know when you are writing and you come to a point where that character is about as thin as the paper you no longer write on? We probably should go back to paper, but I digress. Well, I was at the point of "I can't be bothered with this anymore," when I realized something. Let's make him an idiot! Let's give him a magnificent wifey with the patience of a saint,
It's all coming together very nicely now. And I'm enjoying writing this character again.
So what's the point of all this? Get yourself a nice sock? Find inspiration in all the weird places? If you really get into writing, please be sure not to distract yourself by writing rubbish on blog posts? I leave that to you to decide for yourself.
I'm away to get a cup of tea. Maybe buy the wifey a nice present.
So, having forgotten all about the last time, I went into the kitchen forgetting to take my reading sock off my hand, made a cup of tea, and spilled a trail of tea all over the floor. Had to clean it quick before the wifey got annoyed at me, again. This time i got away with it.
But a great idea came to me then! You know when you are writing and you come to a point where that character is about as thin as the paper you no longer write on? We probably should go back to paper, but I digress. Well, I was at the point of "I can't be bothered with this anymore," when I realized something. Let's make him an idiot! Let's give him a magnificent wifey with the patience of a saint,
It's all coming together very nicely now. And I'm enjoying writing this character again.
So what's the point of all this? Get yourself a nice sock? Find inspiration in all the weird places? If you really get into writing, please be sure not to distract yourself by writing rubbish on blog posts? I leave that to you to decide for yourself.
I'm away to get a cup of tea. Maybe buy the wifey a nice present.
April 21, 2018
Free kindle book
So i have a free kindle gift copy of the King's Peace I need to giveaway to someone who will give it a good home. No obligation, just need to give it to someone. You must be in the USA as Amazon doesn't allow gift copies to go abroad. Can't imagine why but that's how it is.
The blurb
The Kingdom is young and yet it stands in great peril. Dark tales of the unnatural have reached the King's city. The King is slain in his bed and the storm on the horizon brings black ships closer to the coastal city of Erenon. Nathaniel, a clever thief has stumbled upon a job that brings him to the home of the King when he is slain and Nathaniel is unwillingly dragged into the quest to reach the southern garrison which has gone quiet in recent months. Strange powers are helping and hindering him and the small company of soldiers dispatched to that garrison as war comes to the city.
They will find those horrors that plague the common man, an ancient dragon legend will unravel, and a deception so epic in scale it involves the Gods. The whole world of man and nations who live on the other side of the mountain range known as the Great Divide will come together in a war no one really understands and as the kingdom fights to survive it will face an enemy they know nothing about.
First person to send me an email address will receive it
Kev
The blurb
The Kingdom is young and yet it stands in great peril. Dark tales of the unnatural have reached the King's city. The King is slain in his bed and the storm on the horizon brings black ships closer to the coastal city of Erenon. Nathaniel, a clever thief has stumbled upon a job that brings him to the home of the King when he is slain and Nathaniel is unwillingly dragged into the quest to reach the southern garrison which has gone quiet in recent months. Strange powers are helping and hindering him and the small company of soldiers dispatched to that garrison as war comes to the city.
They will find those horrors that plague the common man, an ancient dragon legend will unravel, and a deception so epic in scale it involves the Gods. The whole world of man and nations who live on the other side of the mountain range known as the Great Divide will come together in a war no one really understands and as the kingdom fights to survive it will face an enemy they know nothing about.
First person to send me an email address will receive it
Kev
August 26, 2017
The Kings Peace
As book three of this series is so near done, I am considering deleting half of it. Maybe just hit the publish button and see what happens next. Possibly a round of rock paper scissors might settle it. Irregardless (aye, that's not a word but I love it anyway) the first in the series is going to be on sale on September 1st for 99 cents.
https://www.amazon.com/Kings-Peace-Da...
Alternatives to spending 99 cents on a book? You can get a cheap bottle of shampoo, a slushie, tacky lip gloss, some toxic food substitute from McDonald's, and you might even get a hug if you can find a willing participant who happens to be cheap.
There, something for everyone
https://www.amazon.com/Kings-Peace-Da...
Alternatives to spending 99 cents on a book? You can get a cheap bottle of shampoo, a slushie, tacky lip gloss, some toxic food substitute from McDonald's, and you might even get a hug if you can find a willing participant who happens to be cheap.
There, something for everyone
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