By Andy Remic
Ferocious fable from a real-life hardman come to assert the post-Gemmell world.
THEY got here FROM THE NORTH AND 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 by way of an albino military, the military of Iron. A small staff trigger to warn the king: Kell, a powerful 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 by way of lethal warriors, tremendous harvesters who drain blood from their sufferers to feed their masters. As Falanor comes lower 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 myth from a real-life hardman come to say the post-Gemmell international.
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Extra resources for Kell's Legend (Clockwork Vampire Chronicles, Book 1)
Example text
There’s nothing romantic about watching your friends slaughtered. Nothing heroic about seeing crows on a battlefield squabbling over corpse eyes. ” His voice dropped to a whisper. ” “But still,” persisted Nienna, “I think I’d like to join the army. My friend Kat says they take women now; or you can join as a nurse, to help with battlefield casualties. They give you good training. We had a Command Sergeant, he came to the school trying to sign us up. ” Kell moved across the room, so fast he was a blur.
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.
But then, her husband was ancient, this woman his prize, a beautiful peasant bought like any other object with favours from an outlying nobleman’s villa. He kept her secreted here, a creature denied liberty and sexual congress. Saark kissed her neck, her throat and her breasts which rose to meet him as she panted in need. He bit her nipples and she groaned, thrusting her naked body onto him. ” mumbled Saark, and as he murmured his fingers dropped to her cunt, which pressed against his cupping hand, warm, slick, firm, inviting him, urging him to take her…to take her hard… Both her hands ran through Saark’s long, curled black hair.