Monthly Archives: April 2013

A Mankind Witch

To the North of the Holy Roman Empire are the pagan Norse-lands. It is here that Prince Manfred of Brittany, and Erik, his Icelandic bodyguard, must venture in the dead of winter to a mountainous land of trolls and ice to find a stolen pagan relic, the arm-ring of Odin, something so magical that it should not be possible to move it beyond its wards, let alone take it away. It is gone, and unless it is recovered before Yuletide and the re-affirmation of truce-oaths, a new Viking age will be born. King Vorenbras will lead his berserkers in an orgy of killing, rapine, looting and destruction, across the Empire’s unguarded North-Western flank.

Princess Signy is the King’s older stepsister, and everyone believes her to be the thief, a witch and a murderess. Everyone, that is, but Cair, her stable-thrall, a man plucked from the ocean, with a hidden past. Cair doesn’t believe in witches or magic, let alone that Signy could steal and murder. If he has to drag the foremost knight of the age, and his deadly bodyguard kicking and screaming though the entire Norse nine worlds to prove it and free her, he’d do it. No Kobold, dwarf, or troll is going to stop him, or his scepticism. Not the wild hunt. Not even a Grendel. He doesn’t believe in this superstitious rubbish. He’s a man of science and learning, and he’s used that to fake his way into being feared as a magic worker. But for Signy, he’ll be all of mankind’s witches.

He’ll have to be, because that’s what it’ll take to defeat the dark magical forces which are marshalled against them.

And now it is available from… me. The rights to this book reverted. It is available an e-book on Amazon (the picture is a link, and if you use it, I get an extra 6% – from Amazon, not from you. If you think Authors are overpaid, don’t use it!

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A little something…

“You little lard-faced bastard,” yelled the Svart, kicking at me as I held him aloft by his ratskin weskit.
Like the blackhead had room to talk. If I stretched him, he’d be a quarter my height and a tenth of my weight, and his face was the same color as maggot, only scrawnier than most maggots.
“What did you do with her, Glibflint?” I snarled at him. “And if you kick me, so help me, I’ll eat you, and puke your remains into the sea.”
He blew me a raspberry.
I shook him so hard his that his little sharp teeth nearly rattled out of his head.
“Answer me, or that’s just the start!” I screamed into his face.
“Not going to,” he hissed, working his mouth to find spit.
I knew what that meant. Svartalfar are as brave as a mouse with a cat… unless they’re being watched.
I grabbed his leg, with the other hand. Dropped his weskit and swung him savagely at the shadows behind me. They’d never be in the shadows in front, let alone the light. He was a lousy club as I thrashed into the squalling mass of them. They poured out of their little crack like roaches. Yammering and ululating in their nasty triumph, surging around me, trying to get behind me.
I flung Glibflint at them, trying to haul out my sword as the gibbering shrieking mass snatched at me. Biting, pulling, kicking, clinging.
Down I went under a stinking tide of little vermin, shrieking their triumph as I fell.
I hit the ground hard. Tried desperately to roll.
Cold little pinching hands made a net, holding me down.
The sharp lava-rocks beneath me stabbed at me, tore my shirt as I struggled desperately to get up, to break free.
My nose was full of the smell of moldy cloth and half rotten meat, and fresh blood.
They were trying to cram something into my mouth, crushing my lips back against my clenched teeth.

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