By Andy Remic
Ferocious myth from a real-life hardman come to assert the post-Gemmell world.
THEY got here FROM THE NORTH AND the town FELL.
It is a time for warriors, a time for heroes. Kell's awl howls out for blood. The land of Falanor has been invaded via an albino military, the military of Iron. A small crew trigger to warn the king: Kell, an impressive and brutal hero; his granddaughter, Nienna and her buddy, Katrina; and Saark, the ex-Sword Champion of King Leanoric, disgraced after his affair with the Queen.
Fighting their means south, betrayal follows conflict, conflict follows deviation, and they're attacked from all quarters through lethal warriors, big harvesters who drain blood from their sufferers to feed their masters. As Falanor comes less than heavy assault and invasion, simply then does Nienna start to study the reality approximately grandfather Kell -- that he's whatever yet a hero. Ferocious fable from a real-life hardman come to assert the post-Gemmell global.
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Additional info for Kell's Legend (Clockwork Vampire Chronicles, Book 1)
Kell rammed his left fist into the soldier’s midriff, heard the woosh of expelled air as the man doubled over. Kell stood, and stamped on the man’s head, his heavy boot crushing the albino’s skull as more came from the mist and Kell, shock and realisation slamming through him, recognised that he was outnumbered and his brow furrowed and dark thoughts shot through his brain and his blood was pumping, fired now, a deep pulsing rhythm, and he hadn’t wanted this, he’d left this behind and it was back again, drawing him in, drawing him onto the knife edge of- Murder.
Saark, the outcast. Saark, the jewel thief! Once proud, once honourable. No! He had stooped low. He had traded his honour and pride and manhood for a handful of worthless baubles. Saark laughed, his laughter brittle and hollow…like his self-esteem. Yes, he was beautiful; powerful and muscular and dazzlingly handsome. The women fell over themselves to bed him. But deep down…deep down, Saark realised he despised himself. “Kill them? You will not have to look far, little man,” came a soft, ululating voice from the ice-smoke.
The corpse hit the ground with a rattle; like bones in a paper bag. The Harvester turned back to Saark, flat oval face leering at him. Thin lips opened revealing a black interior ringed with row after row of tiny teeth. Saark grunted, rolled onto his hands and knees and accelerated into a sprint faster than any man had a right to. He powered away, chest on fire, heart pounding a tattoo in his ears, mouth Harmattan dry, bladder leaking piss in squirts down his legs. Down long alleys he fled, with no sounds of pursuit.
Kell's Legend (Clockwork Vampire Chronicles, Book 1) by Andy Remic