It’s week 9! This week I’ve spent most of my writing time cracking on with trying to finish my other work in progress, The Nightblade. I’m about halfway the book at the moment and aiming for a late summer release. This story is about Ferran of BlackMoor and covers his backstory as well as covering the events leading up to the events that take place at the start of Heir to the Sundered Crown.

Here’s a sneaky peak-

The small boy hummed to himself as he walked across the field. He enjoyed the way the long grass tickled his bare feet and the softness of the earth. He had been walking most of the day, but thanks to the vitality provided by youth he did not yet feel tired. The view from the field was beautiful. Being located in the foothills that surrounded the small town of Midlake it offered the lad panoramic views of the shimmering waters of the three great lakes. Behind him were the dark ominous trees that marked the borders of the Fell forest.

Nearby he could hear the bells of the cows that he was tasked of keeping a watchful eye on. The animals happily munched their way across the field and their odour carried on the gentle breeze which was rolling off of the distant lakes. The day was hot and sunny. Insects flitted to and fro and the sounds of birds filled the air. All in all the day was perfect.

The boy was just eight summers old and wore the clothes of a Sheppard. His loose white tunic was offset by a pair of scruffy grey trousers and on his head he wore a straw hat that was slightly too small for his head. He leaned down and picked one of the pretty blue wildflowers that grew at the edge of the fields. He placed it gently into the small pouch tied haphazardly to his waist. Looking inside the pouch he was happy to see that he had now collected quite a nice variety of flowers, his mother would be delighted with them.

A noise like something moving quickly through the undergrowth caused him to look up. He tilted his head to listen…there it was again, only this time it came from behind him. The hair on the back of the lad’s neck began to stand on end, something wasn’t right. It was at that moment that the boy realised that he had wandered further away from the town than he had ever done previously. A sense of panic began to fill him. His mother had always told him to go no further than the third field over from the edge of town. He was in the fourth!

The cows began to moo and stamp their feet. The boy could see that many of the herd had begun to move back towards the town, as if some instinct told them that they should not be so far from it. The animals grouped together, their sounds of distress growing more frantic. All fears forgotten the boy ran towards them, he couldn’t allow the herd to stampede, if he did and they caused damage to famer Wolds fields he would be in for a world of hurt.

The sound of something moving through the undergrowth came again, only this time louder. The boy slowed. Suddenly it had grown cold, so cold that goose bumps had formed upon his skin. A strange white mist began to flow from the trees that bordered the field like water in a river. Soon the mist had overtaken the boy and the panicking cows. It grew thicker and thicker until the lad could not even see his own hand held in front of his face. His breath now came in clouds of steam as its warmth reacted to the now icy cold air. The fear returned like a worm knotting in his guts.

The cows began to make horrible noises, and the lad swore that he heard what sounded like something eating loudly. He ran towards the noise, the mist hiding the horrors ahead. He slipped on something sticky and with a cry crashed to the ground. He used his hands to right himself but they too now felt sticky. He held them up to his face and screamed. They were covered in blood. He looked down, so were his feet and so was the ground all around him.

As quickly as it had come the mist began to dissipate. The boy was breathing rapidly, terror in his heart. He watched the mist retreat back across the field and back into the tree line from whence it had come. He stifled a scream. Something was moving in the mist, something tall and cloaked. It vanished back into the forest. The mist cleared to reveal the cows, or rather what was left of them.

Each of the beasts had been devoured so that only their bones were left. The grass around them was painted red with their blood.

The boy screamed.

Also, this week I’ve discovered that the issue of piracy has become a bit of a problem. Whilst doing a Google search for War for the Sundered Crown I came across a number of websites that offered free downloads of the book. This issue is serious for all indy writers, how many copies of indy author books have been basically stolen? How much money have indy authors been cheated out of?

I’m going to look further into this issue over the next few weeks. If you know of a way to get your books removed from these sites please get in touch. I’m  annoyed at Amazon for not taking more action to combat this issue.

The epic Sundered Crown Saga is available on kindle and paperback now!
Heir to the Sundered Crown (Book 1) –
War for the Sundered Crown (Book 2) –
Paperback editions –
Heir to the Sundered Crown
War for the Sundered Crown

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