The fantasy saga continues with Sorrow Part 5: The King’s Glory

Fantasy Fiction Sorrow Part 5: The King's Glory

Fantasy Fiction Sorrow Part 5: The King’s Glory

“In the race for total power, only chaos reigns.”

The latest in our fantasy series, Sorrow Part 5: The King’s Glory is now available from Musa Publishing. You can find it on Amazon and Barnes & Noble, amongst others.

The King’s Glory is the name of the ship which carries refugees from the war-torn Winter Realm to the continent of Temeria in the west. Amongst the passengers on board are people from every level of society – knights and nobles, peasants, priests, cut-throats and sell-swords – and with them the three Templar Knights from the Temple of Occido, the war god. They have been sent by their Grand Master – the demon half-breed, Fulk – to find the child called Sorrow, but they are not the only ones looking for him.

Sorrow Part 5: the King’s Glory continues the epic fantasy tale of Sorrow, the child reputed to be the sole remaining survivor of a nomadic tribe who are descended from the very first people to have walked the World Apparent, and so possessing great power. A struggle for power rages in Temeria, a land ripped to pieces by warring generals. The Winter Realm is sliding into chaos following the murder of its infant queen. The insane leader of the bloodthirsty pirates of the Western Isles, the Raven Queen, has not missed the opportunity to cease something which could bring her even more infamy.

The race is on to find Sorrow.


“Lord,” murmured Hoshea, halting at the proper distance from his master’s desk. He bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart in formal salute.

“What do you want?” Saqr snapped, making a show of sifting through the heap of papers on his desk. “Your master is in a purple mood, verging on black. I am extremely busy, I cannot sleep, and my arm aches as though devils gnaw on it.”
Hoshea smiled thinly. He had been in Saqr’s service all his life, over forty years, and took little notice of his moods. “A letter has arrived, lord, carried here by a sergeant of cavalry in the employ of General Anma. I believe it is a reply to your offer of co-ruling. A somewhat unwise offer, if you will permit me to say so.”

“Yes, yes, give it here,” Saqr blustered. He disliked Hoshea’s habit of commenting on his decisions. In his view, a commoner had no right to be opining on high matters, especially when the wretched man was always right.

The secretary withdrew a cylinder of smooth white paper from the satchel slung round his neck, and laid it carefully on the edge of his master’s desk. Saqr snatched it up, tore away the binding, and eagerly read the contents.

“To the most high and honourable General Nasheem Saqr, greetings,

We have given due consideration to your intriguing offer to divide the land of Temeria between us, with myself as Overlord of the East and you as Overlord of the West, and herein is our response.

You know me for a cruel woman, and you have often upbraided me for my cruelty. Know now that I intend to give free rein to all my cruelties and practice them on you and yours, Saqr, until all your cities and palaces are as dust and all your soldiers, servants, bondsmen and livestock so many burned offerings. I am raising all my hosts and we are coming, like a storm, to wipe your name off the face of the good earth.

However, do not be in any doubt that your name will be forgotten in Temeria. Generations to come shall whisper stories to each other of the terrible fate of General Nasheem Saqr. Mothers shall frighten their children into weeping fits with the details of what the Empress Anma did to him with her bare hands. Of how she wrestled his entrails from his living body and wrapped them, like so many bloody snakes, about a lance, of how she twisted his foolish head off and placed it in a pit to be shat on by slaves. Further details I shall not go into, for I have no wish to frighten you into taking your own miserable life before I have the opportunity to rip it out of you.

In short, I decline your offer.

Signed, with respects, the Empress Anma, First of Her Name.”

When he had finished reading the terrible letter, Saqr set it down, leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingertips. In this way he hoped to look calm and thoughtful, but Hoshea knew him too well.


Sorrow Part 4: The Gelded Wolf – Latest in the Fantasy Series

Fantasy Fiction Sorrow Part 4: The Gelded Wolf

Sorrow Part 4: The Gelded Wolf, now available from Musa Publishing

Happy new year everybody. I meant to write this post before Christmas but was occupied by a spot of family upheaval resulting in an hitherto unexpected arrival at my house, namely Satchmo – an overweight nine year old border collie whose hobbies are howling and making camouflage shit. Thankfully though, he is house-trained and keeps an eye out for the robins who are plotting to distract me so that the bears can tinker with my miscellanea.

I’ve discovered dog-walking presents new opportunities to enrage other members of the human race, which is nice. I saw a woman get pulled over into a big patch of thick mud by a dog she clearly had no control over. What made this even more hilarious was that her dog was going for Satchmo, who just stood there minding his own camouflage business. I don’t understand why anyone would get a dog that can overpower them and then fail to teach it any manners. Needless to say, she went down like a sack of shit, star-shaped on her stupid face in the mud. Not only that, but she had the gall to grimace at ME when I informed her she was lucky it was winter and the ground was nice and soft. Do you know what she said? She said “have you ever been called an arse hole?”. I told her it was only the second time that day.

New year’s eve in Amsterdam left me in a near catatonic state for several days. Amsterdam is a bit mad on on new year’s eve. People just roam the streets letting of fireworks at random, the place was a mess the next day. The highlight was seeing a man getting sworn at by a prostitute for taking a photo of her, she called him “stupido”. Brilliant. Needless to say, my recovery from the debauchery was protracted and harrowing. Coming home late the day after new year’s day to find my loping, organ abusing younger brother, Jub, and the illustrious Satchmo going through my bins did not help matters.

My brain seems to have reassembled now so its back to business. The fourth in the fantasy series called Sorrow is now available from Musa Publishing and can also be purchased on Amazon for just 77p. You can also see it in all the usual places – Smashwords, Goodreads, Barnes and Noble etc. Below is an excerpt for your perusal. If you like fantasy, you will like this!


“The power struggle becomes ever more vicious, and the wolves smell blood.”


“Going for a spot of fresh air, Bracket?” said Felipe.

The innkeeper squeaked and the keys slipped out of his fingers, landing with a muffled thud on one of the foul wolfskin rugs.

“You should be asleep!” he yelped as Felipe’s massive form unfolded out of the darkness. A light flared as the Templar struck a tinder from the box he carried and used it to light one of the dormant tallow candles.

“Should be, but I am not,” said Felipe, raising the candle so his scarred face appeared pale and grim in the shadows, “unlike my comrades, who I have never known to sleep so sweetly, or with such military precision. They all passed out at the same time. What drug did you put in their ale?”

The innkeeper backed away until his back was pressed up against the door. Felipe could only see his outline in the gloom, and there was something odd about it. He raised the candle higher to get a better look.

“What the Hells are you wearing?” he demanded, “is that a wolfskin you have draped over your shoulders? My dear Bracket, you make a very unconvincing wolf.”

“Shut up, fool!” Bracket hissed, bending to retrieve his keys. Now Felipe could see why he had dropped them: long strips of sharpened iron were tied to the tops of his fingers, giving them the appearance of claws.

Bracket was indeed wearing a wolfskin, and not only that. The dead wolf’s head adorned the innkeeper’s, strapped in place on top of his skull, its rotting eyes staring glassily into whatever afterlife was reserved for the spirits of wolves.

Felipe was too astonished to move, allowing Bracket time to scoop up the keys and wrestle with the locks.

“I forgot you don’t drink, curse you,” he snarled, turning one key after another, “not that it matters. I will give you the same choice.”

“What choice? Come away from that door, man.”

The innkeeper ignored him, and there was the hiss of steel on leather as Felipe put the candle down and drew his sword. He advanced towards Bracket, who spun to face him.

“The choice I give everyone who comes here!” rasped the innkeeper, his red-rimmed eyes seeming to glow with a fearful light, “join The Sons of the Wolf, or die. You and your comrades, when they wake up—never fear, I have just sent them to sleep, not poisoned them—will be told to choose.”

Felipe was baffled rather than afraid. “What nonsense is this? Your wits are cracked.”

“You think so? I overheard you talking of kings earlier, and how a strong man is needed to unify the realm. I am a poor man, Felipe de Gascur, and it seems to me that the Great Houses have ruled this land for too long. The next King will not come from the nobility, but from the people, and he will be blessed by the Wolf!”