It’s been a bit over a year since my last post, and for that, I apologize. It’s been far too long. Not that I haven’t thought about posting–I have, about a thousand times. I just haven’t known quite what to say, and it’s felt as if, whatever I would say, should have a little weight, not just the meandering drivel of a random afternoon’s thought-for-a-moment. (In fact, I always feel that way before posting. There’s so much empty chaff out there, I’d like what I say to be the grain.)
Not sure this post has that “weight” in a reflective kind of way, but it certainly has the gravity of being exciting (for you, I hope, and definitely for me) and long overdue (for both of us I’m quite sure).
THE MURDER IS COMING!
I am delighted to announce that A Murder of Crows, my second book, and the next installment in A City with Seven Gates series, is completed! The book is currently with the editor, and it’s cover artwork is nearly finalized. I can’t tell you how excited I am!
Nicolas, a year older, finally returns to the world of Telluric Grand only to find himself on the knife’s edge of an invasion of War Crows. He arrives in a fracturing First Kingdom, it’s crown city unprepared and purposely distracted by something’s, or someone’s, dark and malevolent intentions. The Crows, fast-crowding into their black longboats from across the Cold Sea, can smell the Kingdom’s weakness, and they’re eager for violence and blood. In the end, Nicolas, alone and unsure of what he’s doing, uses the only thing he can to lure the Murder of Crows into their own deadly fate … himself.
“Still alive, are you?” the man mused lightly, his flinty voice almost unconcerned, the question neither demanding nor curious.
Nicolas, unsure of what to say or how to say it, said nothing.
Lord Cadwallon, the War Marshal of the Second Grey Legion, a man whose sword had killed enemies of the First Kingdom for the past two-and-forty years stood in his stirrups and looked away into the deep glooms of Wistman’s Wood.
“Still alive,” he repeated, his voice now harder but still indifferent. “Alive yet not long for the grave.”
— A Murder of Crows, Chapter 18, “The Dying of the Light”