Release date: March 16, 2015
Subgenre: Epic fantasy
About The Shard:
A dying king. A mysterious invader. The seer's vision was clear: find the lost shard from the Spire of Peace or the realm would drown in blood.
The problem: eight hundred years ago the elven hero Kathkalan took the shard with him into the lair of the most vicious dragon ever known to mankind...and he never returned.
Reluctantly drafted to lead the quest is the minor noble Midas, torn between his duty to the realm and the desire to protect his sons. With an unlikely band of heroes, including two elderly rangers and a young tinker's son, Midas must risk losing everything he loves if he is to locate the shard and save the Known Lands.
Excerpt:
Midas had never heard of elves
killing men before. He slumped in his
saddle, staring at the bodies scattered near the forest edge. Crows hopped and cawed just out of kicking
range. The horses stamped their hooves
and flicked their tails at flies. The
smell of corruption was yet mild.
“I don’t recognize these men,” he
murmured. He should recognize them; he
knew the people on his lands. These men
had not simply been passing through.
Three axes lay near the corpses, and two of the trees showed chop
marks. Red sap flowed down the silver
bark, the trees bleeding from their wounds.
Three bodies lay near the trees and
two more were partially obscured by the brown grass and weeds a few paces
away. Each had a single silver-fletched
arrow jutting from its chest or back. Elven arrows, thought Midas. No man
could make arrows so perfect.
He shifted his gaze to the
woods. Silverbark trees towered into the
sky, their canopies forming a ceiling over the tangled shrubs and dead leaves
below. The edge of the forest was thin
and the summer light shone down in beams to the forest floor, but there was no
sign of elves. This was not unusual;
Midas had never seen an elf in all of his thirty-eight years. There
could be dozens of them staring at us right now and we’d never see them.
He twisted in the saddle to speak
to Fridrik. “Bring a wagon from the
village. Post a guard on these bodies
until they can be loaded up and brought to Welby. Something's happening and I intend to find
out what.”
“Yes, milord,” the squire
said. He detailed two men to guard the
bodies, picked out two more as escorts, and rode off toward the hamlet they’d
passed on the way.
Midas bent to examine the closest
corpse. The man was filthy and clothed
in rags. He looked like the beggars or
thieves one might find in any of the big cities.
“How could they think to get away
with this, Voor? Even desperate men…”
“I don’t know, milord,” Voor said.
“Someone forced them.”
Voor nodded.
Midas’s turned back to the scene of
the massacre and his shoulders slumped.
“This is the moment.”
“Milord?” said Voor.
“The peace is done.”
Dust rose in clouds as the group
cantered over the dry field. Even in the
light of day the small red moon was visible just above the horizon—an evil omen
if there ever was one. Midas thought of
his sons, the memory of skirling swords echoing in his mind, and despite the
heat he felt a chill in his chest. Why would someone want to provoke the elves?
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About Ted Cross:
Ted Cross has spent the past two decades traveling the world as a
diplomat, all the time dreaming about writing fantasy and science
fiction. He's visited nearly forty countries and lived in seven,
including the U.S., Russia, China, Croatia, Iceland, Hungary, and
Azerbaijan. He's witnessed coup attempts, mafia and terrorist attacks,
played chess with several world champions, and had bit parts in a couple
of movies. He currently lives in Baku, Azerbaijan with his lovely wife
and two teenage sons.
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