For those who follow me on Twitter (shameless plug, follow @NCKoussis), you might’ve seen the following tweet:
Book one is The Sword of Mercy and Wrath (if that wasn’t already clear). Bonus: I finally got the pre-order link for the paperbacks working! Buy them here!
Book one-point-five is a novella called The Sword of Salt and Smoke, centered around a mercenary named Kyrah, one of the best fighters on the Continent. She ends up in trouble with a criminal boss named Percival Prior. There’ll be some exciting news going forward in this space to come. Expect cool battles, more of the Order, sexy encounters, and werewolves galore.
Here’s a little teaser:
A drop of blood fell off Kyrah’s brow onto the stone floor. It landed with a plip. Guillaume sat chained up across from her.
“Tell us about Luka,” their captor asked. The man’s jaw was all angles, adding to the savageness of his face. He was pockmarked and bald and had a curved scar on his forehead.
Kyrah’s voice thrummed with anger. “Who are you?”
“That don’t matter,” he spat. He spoke with an Osbergian accent—not Badonnian, then. “What matters is why you two were asking questions about Luka.”
“Are you Luka?” Kyrah pried.
“Fuck no, I’m not that overindulged Invereider.”
“So, who are you then?”
“Fuck knows what my parents called me. People just call me—” Their captor screwed up his face. “Wait a fucking minute, why am I answering your questions? I’m asking the questions here.”
“If you say so.”
“What’s so funny? Tell ‘im what happened, Priest.” He gestured to Guillaume.
“Forgive me, Kyrah,” Guillaume said, grimacing. “When you don’t return, I look for you. They followed me.”
“I know,” Kyrah replied, then glared at their captor. “This whoreson’s friends tried to strangle me behind the tavern.”
“What?” their captor probed.
Kyrah laughed. “What do you mean, ‘what’?”
“We followed the priest ‘ere ‘cause he looked like an easy mark.” He shot at glance at Guillaume. “Your other two friends looked like they could handle themselves in a fight if it came down to it. I don’t know nothin’ about anything behind the tavern.” Their captor laughed, then stepped back. “I don’t know what’s going on ‘ere, but it don’t matter anythin’.”
He twirled the blade with his fingers. Then he pulled his face right in close to Kyrah’s, close enough Kyrah could smell the man’s stale breath and see the crevices on his cheeks. Kyrah braced herself and grinned. Too close.
“See, you’ll either—”
Kyrah headbutted him. The man’s face cracked open. Cartilage fractured, and blood started pissing from the man’s nose. Before he could react, Kyrah transformed. Like slipping out of her skin and into another’s. Great muscles formed into place. Arms and chest exploded in size. Kyrah’s face shifted and cracked as it reformed into the guise of a wolf. Fur slid out from inside her skin somewhere.
The iron chains broke open. She buffeted their captor backwards, slapping his gormless face around. She pried open Guillaume’s chains. Before their captor could gather his thoughts, the man had a dagger held to his own throat, drawn from Guillaume’s robe.
“You see, batard,” Guillaume spat.
Kyrah took a deep breath and shrank back to normal—her body and face forming back, fur receding. The man seemed horrified. Kyrah had one moment been a normal man, then another moment a giant, red wolfman, then the next, the same man as he was two moments ago.
“B-But, yo-u…” Shaking as he was, he seemed unable to get the words out. He shook his head, shaking the metaphorical cobwebs off. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like that before,” he exclaimed. Then the man eyed the blade, then snapped his eyes to the priest.
“You got me. What you gonna’ do to me?”
Guillaume looked at Kyrah. “Leave him?”
“You decide. You were the one he captured. I was never really in danger.”
“Ok. I let you go, then,” the priest said. “But…”
“It’s too bad I broke both the shackles,” Kyrah said idly. “We could have chained him up.”
Guillaume put a hand in his robe. Pulling out a bundle of rope, he said, without a hint of irony, “We could use this.”
“You just have a length of rope ready to go at all times?”
“If I die tomorrow, it won’t be for lack of preparation.”
Kyrah kicked the man’s knee, bringing the rope around his arms and chest.
“All right,” their former captor cried. He started murmuring to himself. Something about Gunerein better pay me extra for this shit.
Kyrah chuckled as they tied their former captor up. “You seem remarkably alright with my… state,” she said to Guillaume, tying a knot around the man’s wrist.
Guillaume tittered and said, “It was the first thing the red-beard said about you. That youngling doesn’t know how to keep a secret.”
Their former captor yelled muffled curses at them as they walked out of the house. Kyrah had his sword in hand—it had been kindly left propped on the wall for her. Guillaume fetched a wooden shield that lay next to it. As Kyrah’s eyes adjusted to the light, she could see they were still on Viscount Street. She recognized some of the buildings around – their steep, tiled roofs and half-timbered brick all around. There were also three heavily armed men, standing directly in front of them. They had their weapons drawn. Kyrah realized who it was.
Tomasz Gunerein faced him, the crescent scar on his cheek giving him away immediately. He was also the man from the baths, she realized now. In the steam, she hadn’t seen his scar. But she did recognize his frame, and his black curls. Two men either side of him had crossbows pointed at them, while Gunerein held a spear ahead of him, ready to strike. Guillaume held his dagger and shield in a practiced guard position.
“So, it’s you that’s after me?” Gunerein said.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kyrah said. “I only want your head.”
Guillaume steadied himself, eyes darting around the scene, ready. The priest has had some training, Kyrah thought.
The air was still enough Kyrah could hear her heartbeat. She enacted the fight in her head. Feeling the warmth of the afternoon sun on the back of his head, she thought they were lucky.
The crossbowmen will find it hard to aim. Two strides are all I need. Turn, avoid the bolts. Sword held in finestra, point ahead. Strike.
“What did you do to Eamon?” Gunerein asked, breaking the tense silence.
“He’s fine,” Kyrah said, readjusting his grip on her sword. “Though I can’t say the same for you.”
“Well, I’ve never been one to pass up an opportunity. What’s Prior paying you?”
“Too much,” Kyrah admitted. “Eight hundred.” Eight hundred silver was indeed too much money. She could buy a small estate for that much money.
“Prior never was one for subtlety,” Gunerein added, whistling in appreciation. “He probably expected you to die so he wouldn’t have to pay up.”
Kyrah heard a clicking sound.
“I—” The man jerked. Then went stiff, flopping onto the tiles.
Kyrah cried out in surprise. Something whizzed past her head, clattering on the stone.
“Eme’s tits, get down Priest!”
Someone was firing bolts at them. They ran inside the house as Gunerein’s men dropped. The gagged man in the corner, their former captor, made a sound of protest. The thump of boots on the floor above, moving towards the door. A bigger thump as their assailant landed in the courtyard. Kyrah ran outside. A man with slick, dark hair wearing a yellow jacket turned. He held some inscrutably complex crossbow-like weapon, one with a drum beneath it.
An assassin? He winked at Kyrah, then ran. Kyrah gave chase.
She ran after him, pushing townsfolk out of her way. Kyrah grunted in frustration. Viscount Street was a busy street. The dark-haired man was perhaps ten yards ahead of her when he spun and fired a volley. A line of bolts flew at Kyrah, their tips glinting nastily in the sun.
She rolled over a waist-high fence into a courtyard. Townsfolk cried out as they were hit. Kyrah ran along, jumping fences, moving from courtyard to courtyard. The dark-haired man was getting further away. Kyrah grunted, annoyed. Another volley. Kyrah ducked behind a stone column. Stone fragments flew as a set of wickedly sharp bolts glanced off. Someone cried out in Badonnian. Kyrah swore out loud.
She stuck her head out. His assassin was gone.
“Fuck!” She struck the pillar with her blade, again and again. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so angry—maybe it was the idea that she had met someone better than her.
“There you fucking are, ladyling,” a voice from behind him came. Kyrah glanced behind and saw Ludi and Ulrich running up behind.
“Am I glad to see you two,” Kyrah said.
Guillaume caught up on them as well.
“Who was that fucker?” Ludi asked.
Kyrah let her sword drop by her side. “Don’t know. Tried to kill me, though. I’m not liking this whole thing. Maybe Gunerein’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
“You’ve been a right pain in the ass to find, lordling,” Ludi added. “We’ve been looking all over the city for you.”
“Go find Saul,” she asked to Ludi. “Gunerein’s probably dead, but tell Saul his body is in one of those courtyards. Make sure Prior coughs up every single coin.” It’s the least he could do, after so much trouble.
“Gunerein’s d…” he blinked. “Right.” He nodded and rushed off to the tavern on the main square.
A crowd of onlookers gathered around them, whispering in hushed tones. Some ran off, presumably to notify the guardsmen.
“We should go,” Ulrich said. “Gunerein’s body has gotta be back there. We should pick it up, take his head, at least.”
She slightly balked at the idea of severing his pretty head from his pretty body, but he wouldn’t miss it. He was dead.
Hope to see you there. For those that are interested in The Kiln of Empire and my other series, don’t worry! I’ll have an update for those soon.
NC