25
Feb
The first installment in a new short story, one of three from the upcoming Splintered Lands: Volume One.
With a twang, the rope snapped, and Fryca cursed. “The bloody thing broke again.”
Ellgis patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll have it mended soon enough.”
“We’ve got Knights of the Broken Wheel breathing down our necks. We don’t have time for soon enough.”
“We’ll flee again if we have to.”
“I don’t want to flee again. I want this buggered contraption to kill them all.”
Ellgis glanced over the path, where dead logs, hidden trips, and pressured stones covered the ground. If the devices worked, they were supposed to fire spears, swing logs across the causeway, and drop mud on those knocked into the water. He was sure the Knights of the Broken Wheel had never seen anything like it. And the Knights still wouldn’t if he and Fryca didn’t get the counterweight working. The technologists had attached it three times, but each time the ropes had failed.
They’d used stronger weaves and more of them, but still the massive basket of stones tore away. If this contraption didn’t work, the technologists would have to flee deeper into the swamp. Which meant losing all of their inventions.
To Ellgis, the machines were more important than the village where they lived. People could be replaced. Years of experiments could not. Fryca felt the same way, and so the two of them were here, trying to fix that blasted basket. If they saved the villagers as a result, well and good.
The technologists fumbled in the darkness for some time, resulting in failure after failure, until Fryca threw her lantern into the swamp and stormed off. Ellgis retrieved it before following.
The next morning they found the basket of stones had sunk into the bog. By the time they were ready to lift it into the air again, the Knights of the Broken Wheel had arrived at the edge of the swamp.
13
Feb
This is an excerpt from the upcoming short story Wolven Kindred. The Wolven Kindred are a mercenary unit made up of men and wolven bound mind to mind, as well as some of each that are unbonded. Nietan is the human leader of the Wolven Kindred, and Ær is his bonded wolven.
Thus there was no hardships aside from the regular ones of military life for the Kindred as they passed onwards towards the Coastal Kingdoms. Indeed, compared to their prior existence it was one of some relaxation. There was food and drink, enough shelter to stay dry, and where once their discipline had been shoddy, it was now much better. Although given their small numbers, Nietan spent most of their training time on the art of skirmishing, of engaging from the flanks and retreating. They were too small for all but the most necessary of line warfare.
Especially after losing some men while stationed in Ceaster. Nietan had been forced to eject the worst troublemakers, including a bonded pair that would not stop arguing about the Kindred being allied with another mercenary company. The unbonded men could be replaced easily enough, most likely, but replacing a pair-bond was going to take time. And had upset both the wolven and the humans, but there had been little choice, so great was the level of disruption.
He refused to recognize what was good for Kindred.
“True, but to eject someone from his home and family hurt. He’d been a brother for thirty years.”
And in all that time, never learned wisdom or the ways of the pack. Whatever bitch whelped his wolven needs lessons in motherhood.
“Whoever it was is dead, Ær.”
Ær turned his muzzle to stare at the horizon for a moment. Why do you pair bond with us? Barring you dying in battle, you’re going to outlive me. And the next wolven as well. Why do you bind yourself to us knowing you will bury our corpses?
“Because what we get in return makes the payment seem a paltry thing.”
Is it really though? Some never bond again.
Nietan sighed. He wasn’t qualified to speak on this matter. Ær was his first companion.
“You’ll have to ask the Beastmaster. He has to know., as much as any one person can.”
The man who can bond us all, but never himself. I wonder how much regret he feels over that.
“A great deal, I should think. But in some ways, he is bonded to every wolven in the Kindred.”
And watches them all die. Burying the unbonded with his own hands. You humans pay too great a price for our support.
“We made our choice Ær. You’re going to have to live with that.”
Irrational to the end.
“It’s the only way to get through life.”
Ær whuffed quietly, then curled up against Nietan as they waited for the main body of their forces to catch them up.
11
Feb
Yes, we all know how that particular saying ends. And like almost every time it is employed, it’s true. I am not dead, and I have certainly not given up on writing. I just appear to have given up on blog posting for some time, although I can say the holidays and then a long ski trip had something to do with the matter. However, I am now back in the lab, and have a series of projects coming out over the next several months.
Chloddio: The second book of The Four Part Land arrives in April, and follows the exploits of the ex-safety engineer Chloddio as he joins the army, and then finds himself embroiled in subterfuge, revolution, and hidden societies. Around him swirl a cast of characters and soldiers based out of the city of Tri-Hauwcerton, together marking the beginning of the second trilogy set in The Four Part Land. And for those of you wondering what happened to Tarranau, don’t worry, he’ll return in Læccan Waters.
Wolven Kindred: A standalone ebook, Wolven Kindred follows Nietan, a human skirmisher and mercenary, and Ær, his bonded wolven companion, as they seek to rescue their failing mercenary group. Holy berserkers, undead priests, and howling barbarians become unlikely allies and implacable enemies as the Wolven Kindred engage in a desperate hunt for coin, and for their long forgotten honour. Wolven Kindred will appear in March.
Splintered Lands: Volume One: Yes, the first book of the long overdue Splintered Lands series will appear shortly, containing a trio of short stories entitled Into the Swamp, Kingdoms in Conflict, and A Baron’s Return. Together, they detail the arc of the southwestern lands, and the great swamp that dominates that tip of the continent. Lands rise and fall, struggling against the ever-present devastation of the Breaking. And yet somehow, there is hope, if distant and faded. Look for this ebook in April.
Ancient New: An anthology I am the editor of, Ancient New is a Deepwood Publishing book exploring the world of alternate history, of a Victorian Internet and an Aztec empire beyond the stars. Comprised of fifteen short stories written by rising stars from the fantasy and science fiction universe, it will capture the strange beauty of future technology, and the lost nobility of the past, and sweep them together into a tremendous mixture that delights and endears. Ancient New will appear at the end of March.
And if you’re curious what else is on my plate and underway, well, there is Læccan Waters, which sees the return of Tarranau as he heads north over the mountains beyond Tri-Hauwcerton, Splintered Lands: Volume Two, following the exploits of terrible thieves and long forgotten wizards, and an unannounced short project.
Finally, later this week, you should expect to see excerpts from the various stories start to appear, little teasers to whet the appetite before the tales go online.
25
Oct
Wolven Kindred is a setting that’s been nagging at me for a while, sitting in the back of my head and poking away, always cropping up at odd moments of the day. And last month, I was able to get enough of it down on paper to create a 22,000 word short story, which was a nice way to get back into writing after spending the summer editing Chloddio and Ancient New. It’s a story I went into without a plot, just with the intention of getting my mind back into the writing groove. Below is a little excerpt of what resulted.
***
Nietan glanced up at the banner fluttering overhead. Death before Dishonour. His company’s motto, supposedly. One they had long ago ignored. Dishonour had come in many forms, but mostly taking bribes and violating contracts. Honesty was a paltry thing to cast aside for money.
The Wolven Kindred had once been better than that. They had made kings, affrighted armies and shattered empires. But that was long ago, when the Kindred numbered five thousand or more. Now, they were down to a paltry two hundred, at best. A number that was only lightly bolstered by the sixty wolven still with the Kindred. Once, there had been one of those great predatory beasts for each brother-in-arms, but like the Kindred themselves, the wolven had diminished.
“At least I have mine.” Nietan ran his hand along the thick fur coat of Ær, the wolven who had fought by his side for more than sixteen years.
Ær glared up at him. You don’t have anything. I chose you just as much as you chose me.
Nietan chuckled as Ær’s thoughts rippled across his mind. Despite the outwardly bestial qualities, wolven were almost as bright as the humans they partnered, and often larger. Certainly, when both human and wolven were covered in the banded scale armour that had long been their hallmark, most opponents would say they feared the wolven more.
Would have. These days the Kindred had such a poor reputation that they were only paid to fight bandits. Or by the desperate.
The skirmisher wandered through the Kindred’s camp, Ær at his side. Around him was a desultory mess of tents, camp-fires, and refuse heaps, the layout haphazard and crowded. What little discipline there was in the camp could be seen on the edges, where the wolven were left to rest. There, the Beastmaster had organized the company’s stores, and the little pens that housed the wolven.
The men that sat in front of the tents stank, of drink, of filth, of encrusted blood. They had fought that morning, driving raiders away from a village at the behest of the local noble. For once, they had won with no casualties, although that had been more to do with the poor quality of the bandits than any skill on the part of the Kindred.
Yet victory had not brought peace, but was instead a reminder of the legendary history of the company, and how it had fallen. And so the brothers drank, and gambled, and played idle games doing whatever they could to dull their minds. Many of the soldiers simply flopped about, trying to sleep.
Despite his status as one of the older heads in the camp, Nietan did not remember the beginning of the fall. That had happened long before he had joined the Kindred, although in the years since he had seen further degradation and despair. The Packmaster of that time had harboured grand thoughts of revitalizing the Kindred, of growing the ranks and making of them once more a force, but he had bet poorly on the victor in a war, and the Kindred had been broken on a battlefield, remade, and broken again. When the remnants had fled, and reformed afterwards, they had numbered perhaps four hundred. In the decade since, they had shrunk to their present number, through death, desertion, and all manner of leave-taking.
Nietan yelped as teeth closed around his palm. If you keep this up, I’m going to wet your bed in terror. Ær’s eyes held a twinkle, but one with too much depth to be called happy.
“What do we do, then?”
Ær shrugged. Your race plans ahead. Ours does not.
Nietan knew that to be an out and out lie, at least as far as Ær was concerned, but he let it slide, as he had ever since they had been pair-bonded almost two decades ago. Although at the moment it appeared that neither race planned ahead, for now that the bandits were defeated, and pay received from a grateful earl, the Kindred had no plans, no road ahead.
Eventually, one of the packs of wolven would decide to strike out in a direction. Their companions would follow closely. Other humans would then bestir themselves to march after friends, and thus would the camp slowly disintegrate and stream in a certain direction. But it would be uncertain, loose, and poorly organized, and one or two would wander off along the way, or decide not to bother.
But that was all some days in the future. Until then, the Wolven Kindred, kingmakers, would sleep in their own filth and vomit.
Yes, that’s right, the people who publish my books have gone and updated their website, and damn if it doesn’t look swell. And they’re letting people vote on their next three anthologies.
To celebrate, and to welcome people to their new website, Deepwood Publishing has made Bloodaxe, my Viking-based fantasy short, free for this week only. It takes place in a northern fantasy kingdom, and the main character is the deposed former ruler of that land. He’s a villain with a wicked sense of humour, and a mum who’s even more skilled than he is, so Bloodaxe lets her rule while he goes a-conquering.
Reader Quotes:
It’s not often that we get to revel in the villain. Bloodaxe is a delightfully misogynistic cad, whose observations about life and people are surprisingly direct and spot on.
I love reading fantasy but I’ve never encountered anything like this. It’s a quick read, under an hour, but is so full of win!
Bweeheeheehee! This is the best book summary I’ve read in a while. Mr. Tallett, please take my dollar. 😀
And with that I shall leave you with the blurb itself, and a link to download Bloodaxe for free!.
Bloodaxe thought he was in for a nice relax. He was, after all, dead.
And then some jumped up prick of a god told him he had to rescue a kingdom. His own kingdom, in fact. So Bloodaxe grabbed his, well, axe, and leapt back into the fray.
First, though, he had to be born. And learn not to crap his pants. Then he could get to the killing. Lots and lots of killing.
This is his story.
16
May
This is an excerpt from an upcoming Splintered Lands story titled Kingdoms in Conflict.
Galdere muttered and cursed and shouted at the soldiers that reported to him as they struggled to fit together the second of the lever-armed devices. The technologically-minded soldier still hadn’t come up with a name for his creation, but he would, eventually. It was hardly relevant at the moment. And most people just called them giant slings anyway, which was accurate enough. It was what he’d based them on, after all. Just using the power of nature to do the tossing, instead of the power of a human’s arm.
As they assembled the second of the devices, there was another team in the woods, hunting down appropriately shaped trees and limbs to be used to create a third. And to create more spare parts, which were in constant demand. There was now a second set of embankments around the giant slings, one facing outwards, in case of an enemy raid, and the other at the rear, with a low trench behind it. That was where everyone stood when the device was being fired. No one trusted it not to throw splinters all over the place. Especially not after it had almost taken the arm from one unlucky soldier. Still, the risks were worth it.
Nearby, Hálsung and Iudas stood watching the assembly process, occasionally turning when there was a thump from the more distant device. First to see if anyone had been killed, and second to follow the flight of the ball as it impacted into the wall or flew over into the town. Although it was clearly damaging the walls, progress was slow, much to slow for the liking of the baron, and of his army’s food supplies. So now he debated ways to speed the matter up with his subordinate.
“And what would you fling into a town you wished to conquer, Hálsung?”
“I’ve always used arrows and sling stones, lord.”
“So have I, but neither of those seem to be that effective.” He drummed his fingers on his chin as he paced up and down, staring at the walls of Abboddóm. “Perhaps fire?”
“How would we do that?”
“Well, we’re throwing stones, right? Why not carve the spheres from wood, hollow them out a bit, and fill them with burning tinder? If we fire them fast enough they won’t damage the slings. Galdere, come here!” That last was in a shout that carried across the battlefield and cut through the technological soldiers meandering curses.
“Would firing partially hollow spheres of wood that were on fire work?”
Galdere pondered for a moment. “I don’t see why not. We might need to weight them down with a few stones so they flew farther, but I’m sure we can manage. I’ll play around with a few designs this afternoon after I get the sling up and firing, and we’ll try them out overnight.”
Iudas clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. Just don’t take too long.”
The veteran blanched.
7
May
This is an excerpt from an upcoming Splintered Lands story titled Kingdoms in Conflict.
“If that is a precursor to the battle for Abboddóm, then we have already won. They die almost man for man with our poorer troops.” Hálsung gestured at the carnage around them.
“You’re an idiot.” Iudas waved his arm in the torchlight. “They used peasants, same as we do. And they managed to chew up better equipped troops without losing many of their own. They mistimed the ambush, but otherwise, it went well for them. Anyway, spend the night digging graves for our men. We’ll camp here for the night and bury them with the rising of the dawn light.”
“Don’t you mean organizing the men to dig graves?”
“I don’t think I said that. In fact, I’m sure I didn’t say that. So you can either dig a grave, or sleep in it.”
Hálsung grabbed a shovel.
The next morning saw Iudas’s troops advance on Castel. There was little doubt that they would meet resistance there, after the ambush in the woods, but even so Iudas kept them in tight formation, and sent out scouts. If nothing else, it was practice for those soldiers that needed the discipline.
They came out of the woods to find the village was still mostly occupied by those who lived there, a strange occurrence that surprised all of the men in the army. Iudas looked at the pitiful walls of the village, barely more than rotten timber, and began giggling.
Iudas rode to the front of his troops, waving at the village behind him. “The man who brings me the prettiest woman in Castel gets first pick of the loot, plus a gift from me!”
The troops surged forward, the peasants charging in headlong, the more experienced professional soldiers holding back and watching. Although those with bows did unlimber them and begin taking pot-shots at the peasants on the walls. It was pitiful covering fire, but would be enough to keep the defenders discouraged.
Iudas glanced over at Hálsung. “Do you think I should have used this as practice for siege warfare?”
Hálsung shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t think they would have gotten that much practice out of it. And the peasants need blooding. They need an easy fight they can win, so they think all fights are easy fights. Better that they cover themselves in slaughter this time around I think.”
“I like that thinking. Perhaps a little mayhem afterwards as well?”
“If there are any creatures left to play with.”
“No village ever dies in the first wave. But Castel won’t survive the day. Not any of it.”
There were screams coming from the village now, for Iudas’s soldiers had broken the barricades and charged through the mud streets, pulling people from buildings, slashing down any who dared to resist. The weaponry of Iudas’s peasants was rudimentary, and broken on occasion, but a stone mace was a brutal weapon against unprotected flesh, and soon the howls of the wounded began to float over the village, providing a backdrop to the scenes of slaughter.
The women, however, were kept unharmed, and as each of the few pretty young girls were found, the soldiers who captured them left the village, eventually forming a line before Iudas. Their ruler strode up and down, glancing at a face, touching their hair, and occasionally ripping their clothes open for a closer look at the important parts.
Hálsung gestured to the village. “They’re all done, lord. There won’t be any more to inspect.”
“Pity. None of them are particularly attractive. But I keep my promise to the troops.” Iudas meandered through the women once more, his hands roaming freely. After a little while, he settled on a young brunette, maybe fifteen years of age. “Take her to my tent, and tie her up there.”
Iudas glanced at the village. It was deserted, aside from the wounded who howled in its streets. “Hálsung, round up all the loot and pile it before the village gate. The men who found me my woman for the night get first choice. And anyone who does not share the loot they’ve found is to be locked into a hovel. I’ll burn them alive later.”
As those words were communicated through the peasants who had sacked the tiny village, there was a mad rush to drop any goods they had found in the communal pile. Losing out on a little bit of stolen food was far better than dying.
“Oh, and Hálsung. Tonight’s entertainments. I think we should have some gladiatorial games. Make fathers fight sons, women fight husbands. That sort of thing. And for the finale, I want to see two healthy men fight. Except cut a leg off of one, and an arm from another. And give them each big heavy weapons they can’t swing well. A large branch or something. You know, usual promise of freedom to the victor and all that. See to it, would you?” Iudas strode for his tent without waiting for an answer.
Hálsung looked over at the little collection of prisoners and walking wounded and grinned. Tonight was going to be a fun night.
3
May
This is an excerpt from an upcoming Splintered Lands story titled Kingdoms in Conflict.
Iudas grumbled when he looked out at the scene before him. It was all just taking too long. Too damn long.
“Gather up those bloody peasants!”
Hearing his voice becoming annoyed, his men moved faster. They had long ago learned what Iudas’s annoyance could do to a person. Soon enough, the villagers had been gathered in from all the little farms that surrounded the hamlet, and tucked into a small mass in front of Iudas. He sighed at the pitiful looks and thin bodies. What a worthless lot of cretins he ruled.
“You have been selected to join me, to fight for me, as we wage war on the horrid beast Inswán! He has invaded our lands, burned down our villages, slain our people! He sends spies to take what little we have, to steal from us! Now we bring him retribution. And you shall be the agents of our retribution!”
One of the peasants looked around, raised a hand, and spoke. “Begging your pardon, lord, but we aren’t much of a retribution. We’re just poor farmers.”
Iudas gestured. A soldier rammed a dagger into the peasant’s gut, then ripped it sideways.
“Anyone else want to interrupt me?”
The peasants cowered in fear.
“You’re learning. Good. That puts you above the village of idiots I burned down. With them inside of it, mind you.” Iudas took a slug of wine from a skin hanging off his saddle. “Soldiers, you know the drill.”
The healthy men were separated out from the rest, and a small cadre lead them off at a fast march, heading in the direction of Gárhéap, Iudas’s capital. There they would be given basic weaponry and training. Very basic, sadly, much as Iudas wished he could do better. But his lands were poor in metal, and what little he had was not going to be wasted on illiterate peasants. They would be little more than fodder against the walls of Abboddóm, anyway.
Once the new recruits were safely out of earshot, the remaining soldiers started pulling attractive women from amongst the rest who stood there. This was their reward, taken from every village captured. The prettiest of them all went to Iudas, although he thought that wasn’t saying much. Mud-covered farm peasants weren’t really his type, but he made do with what he could find on campaign. It was mostly just a form of tithing, anyway.
Shouts and cries began to echo around the little village. Iudas listened for a moment, then nodded. His men had been given strict orders to impregnate as many of the women as possible, rather than to harm them. After all, the world contained far too few people. The Breaking and the plagues that had followed has seen to that.
Pondering over what might have been if the world still stood as it once had, he took the peasant girl by the arm and lead her into a hovel. He was feeling gentle today. Mostly.
27
Apr
This is the continuation of a story I’ve been working on for the Splintered Lands project. Previous entries can be found here
“Náhte, why is there a net on your head?”
“I needed a hat.”
“Náhte, it’s a net. It lets the sun shine through. And doesn’t keep off the mosquitoes either. Also, it smells of fish. Dead fish.”
“I know. I’m hoping fish will jump into the net and I can eat them. I’m hungry.”
Butan just sighed.
They’d been in Át?san a week now, and had, for once in their lives, honest employment. Neither of them liked it very much.
“Kagdor didn’t bring any food, did he?”
“He brought me more nets to wear. Draped them over my head when he left.”
“That was probably because he doesn’t like you. You cut up one of his nets and used it as a fishing line.”
“He wasn’t using it!”
“Náhte, we’re supposed to be repairing the nets, not breaking them.”
“Oh, is that what this job is? I thought I was just a clothes rack.”
“You just might be.”
“Do I get more money as a clothes rack?”
“No, less.”
“Then I don’t want to be a clothes rack.” Náhte thought for a moment. It was a long moment. “I don’t want to be honest any more, Butan. Honesty is kind of dull.”
“You mean there’s nobody shooting arrows at you? Or trying to sell you into slavery?”
“Exactly!”
“You want people to shoot at you.”
“I think so. I like the sound that arrows make as they whiz by.”
Butan started crying.
—
“Why are we here?”
“Because I was bored of being honest as well.”
“But this is the Knights of the Broken Wheel mission. We can’t join them, they’re honest!”
“I don’t want to join them, I want to rob them.”
“Doesn’t that mean they’ll poke us with pointy things?”
“Given everything else we’ve met tried to do that, what’s the difference?”
Náhte paused.
“They have bigger pointy things?”
“On that, you’re probably right. Ready to go over the wall?”
“Why not swim up the little creek into their complex that no one ever guards?” Náhte pointed.
Butan clapped a hand over his eyes. “Náhte, that’s an open air sewer.”
“Oh, that means I’ll smell foetid. I’ll have all the pretty flowers again, and I can paint them.”
“Fine. Náhte, you can swim in, and I’ll climb over the wall.”
They went their separate ways.
Butan dropped over the wall, huddled in the darkness behind a crate, and looked around. There wasn’t any movement he could see, so he crept towards the storehouse against the back wall of the complex. A Knight stepped out from the barracks, heading to the outhouse, and Butan froze, posing himself like a tree. And then almost fell over.
When the Knight had gone, he made it the rest of the way to the storehouse and slipped inside. Oddly, the door had been unlocked.
“Butan, you’re slow.” Náhte was sitting on a chest, munching on some flatbread.
“How in the name of all the gods did you get in here so quickly?”
“I followed the stream. I knew it came here, after all.”
“You knew the stream came straight into the storehouse, and you didn’t tell me.”
“I’d swum in it before, Butan. I like swimming. Lets me be closer to the fish.”
“I thought the fish tried to bite your fingers and you didn’t like them.”
“We’re on better terms now.”
Butan shook his head, and started hunting through the stacks. Most of what was there was either sealed barrels of food, or military equipment that would be difficult to sell.
“I don’t suppose you’ve worked out a perfect way to sneak stuff out of here, Náhte?”
“I usually swim with it in my shirt. It gets a bit smelly though. And damp.”
“Selling urine-soaked bread is probably not going to go down well. Next idea?”
Well, we could weight a barrel down with some rocks so it floats just below the surface, push it along, and then pop it out of the stream when we’re outside.”
Butan stared at his friend. “Did you just have a smart idea?”
“I’m not sure. What makes ideas smart?”
Butan puzzled on that one. “You’ll have to ask a philosopher.”
“What’s that?”
“A man who thinks about the big questions.”
“You mean like ‘To surrender, or not to surrender’?”
“No, more like whether we perceive reality, or if what we perceive is only a shadow cast by the true reality.” He stopped. “Incidentally, why’d you bring up surrender?”
“Because there’s five Knights outside.”
They both dove for the open sewer.
—
The thieves came up spluttering, covered in foul smelling liquid. Unfortunately, the first thing they saw was a pair of boots. Followed by a sword tip, the rest of the sword, and a large angry man.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to let us surrender?”
The sword swung.
“Thought not. Knights aren’t known for their mercy.”
Náhte ducked, and Butan grabbed a lump of, well, better not think about it and threw it into the Knight’s face.
With the Knight clawing at the adhesive filth, they ran. Well, Butan ran. Náhte charged into the Knight, knocked him to the ground, and stole his helmet. Then he ran.
After they were a good safe distance away, inside the edge of the swamp, Butan looked at Náhte and gestured at the helmet. “Why?”
“I always wanted a Knight’s helmet.” He plopped it on his head. “I look dashing in it, don’t I?”
A man in rags with the metal helmet of a Knight. Dashing wasn’t exactly the word that sprang to Butan’s mind.
“You look exotic, Náhte.”
“Oh, I like that even more.”
“Yes, I thought you might. That’s why I said it. Now, what are we going to do?”
“Well, there’s a nice sunset I could paint on the tree. With mud, of course.”
Butan shoved Náhte into a puddle.
“No, Náhte, big picture what are we going to do next?”
“Oh, hrmm. Die, probably. At least, I think that’s what comes after living.”
“You aren’t helping. Especially not since I think those Knights are organizing a search party.”
“We could flee?”
“I like your thinking.”
They fled.
13
Apr
Bloodaxe, my Viking-based fantasy short, is free today only through the magic of Kindle Select. It takes place in a northern fantasy kingdom, and the main character is the deposed former ruler of that land. He’s a villain with a wicked sense of humour, and a mum who’s even more skilled than he is, so Bloodaxe lets her rule while he goes a-conquering.
Reader Quotes:
It’s not often that we get to revel in the villain. Bloodaxe is a delightfully misogynistic cad, whose observations about life and people are surprisingly direct and spot on.
I love reading fantasy but I’ve never encountered anything like this. It’s a quick read, under an hour, but is so full of win!
Bweeheeheehee! This is the best book summary I’ve read in a while. Mr. Tallett, please take my dollar. 😀
And with that I shall leave you with the blurb itself, and a link to download Bloodaxe for free!.
Bloodaxe thought he was in for a nice relax. He was, after all, dead.
And then some jumped up prick of a god told him he had to rescue a kingdom. His own kingdom, in fact. So Bloodaxe grabbed his, well, axe, and leapt back into the fray.
First, though, he had to be born. And learn not to crap his pants. Then he could get to the killing. Lots and lots of killing.
This is his story.