Sunday, October 4, 2015

The Sane King (Iron Nails, Book 1) by Matt Knott

Release date: August 27, 2015
Subgenre: Epic fantasy

About The Sane King:


Heroes are not born, but forged.

A lone warrior takes up the cause of a hunted boy. A desperate nation seeks to bolster its fragile army. A malevolent god feasts on the nightmares of men and seeks to bring ruin to all.

The wanderer, Rayle, stands against the preternatural forces lurking on the edges of civilization and sanity. In the bleak lands of the Wrack, he rescues Bray from brutal men. Swearing to help the boy seek vengeance for the death of his brothers, Rayle finds himself locked in a savage contest that tests both his strength of arms and will.

The Younger Union, losing its long war against a tyrannical enemy is moved to enforce ancient contracts. Tensions build as an idyllic farming community becomes the stage upon which the future of the north will be decided.

When events collide, and a monstrous power threatens to drown their world in blood, Rayle and his unlikely allies must fight to stop the tides of carnage. To win they must first survive, and to survive they must overcome their fears, doubts, and regrets.

They must unite and set aside differences, and in doing so they may stand against the madness of The Sane King. 



Lungs burning, Bray ran.
Every long step sent waves of pain up his aching legs as his feet snapped fallen twigs and struck hard summer earth. Each breath sucked in humid air as salty sweat stung his cracked lips.
No safe place awaited him. He had no goal to reach, only the desperate need to draw breath each second by painful second. Soon his legs would betray him and the dogs would savage his bare flesh as they dragged him back to eager knives. They would open his throat to the stars and their thirsty tongues. A scant few hours more of life in a world that had turned to terror.
He shouldnt be the last alive.
Brawed and Haelan had been the strong ones; they could have survived this. Not Bawling Bray, a self-fulfilling prophecy from his mother that had led to endless teasing by his brothers.
His dead brothers.
Bray ran and his sweat tasted like the tears that had earned the name as a babe. Distant howling and guttural shouts pumped his legs and lungs harder.
He tripped and his knee cracked against a cruel stone. Dragging himself up, he stumbled in the darkness and felt his palm tear as he slammed it against a tree for balance. The hounds bayed as his blood cried out to them.
Limping now, his flight became a drift, too slow, too weak. Fear drove him, but anger was building on the foundation of pain. Anger at the strangers who had assaulted their camp, anger at himself for failing to fight hard enough.
He staggered down a steep bank and heard the hunters gaining. In moments their dogs would crest the ridge and, blood mad, run him down. It would be a mercy if they tore out his life before the wild men arrived with their wicked blades and vile eyes.
His legs buckled as the ground flattened out and he slid on burning knees, struggling to rise. The deep cut on his hand pulsed out blood as he scratched around in the dirt. His fingers rested on a length of wood and he was lifting it before he even realized hed made the decision.
Hed been born weeping, but he would die with dry eyes.
Fear fell away, dragged down by inevitability and rage. Hed die a man and make them pay for the butchery of his brothers.
Make them pay for every step hed taken in terror. He
Little scrawny to swing such a big stick.
Bray twisted, almost dropping the length as he swung at the darkness.
His eyes, even attuned to the dark as they were, had missed the man leaning against a tall oak. His face was hidden inside a ragged hood, thick fingers playing idly with a long nail. He was tall and as broad as the bark at his back. Bray felt the mans eyes upon him even though he couldnt see them. Their judging weight pushing back any words he might have had.
Slowly the man slid the nail beneath the hem of his cloak and grunted. He raised his hand and tilted his head.
For the briefest of moments there was only the sound of Brays heavy breathing and the wind carrying the call of the pack.
Four following with four beasts. A pause. Hungry beasts.
They killed my brothers, Bray managed, leaning on the suddenly heavy makeshift weapon.
The stranger nodded.
Blood youll be wanting then. Kill the first and Ill join you.
Boy, this is chance. If I werent here, youd have stood alone. Show your heart, and Ill give you theirs.



About Matt Knott:

Matt Knott believes in momentum. Heroic Fantasy should be a kinetic experience where the tablet drags you on an adventure.

You should be squeezing so hard the screen cracks.

Working in the video game industry for close to a decade, with a background in social science and carousing, Matt Knott's deepest passion is for the epic. With his first book, The Sane King, he aimed to capture that sense of pulse-thumping adventure that comes from making wild decisions, or listening to music that ruptures blood vessels.

He wants you to join him in walking rolling hills with sweat on your brow and the unknown ahead.

He lives in Dublin and shares his apartment with a 2 Foot tall statue of Conan the Barbarian fighting an ape.



  1. Thanks a lot for giving The Sane King a platform!

    Greatly appreciate you taking the time to find a spot.

    1. You're welcome, Matt. Good luck with the book.