Saturday, September 19, 2015

The Shadow of the Revenaunt Series, by Paul E. Horsman!
*Tour Spotlight*

 Series!!
*Materials & images provided by Worldwind Book Tours.

 About the Author

 Paul E. Horsman
Paul E. Horsman (1952) is a Dutch and International Fantasy Author. Born in the sleepy garden village of Bussum, The Netherlands, he now lives in Roosendaal, a town on the Dutch-Belgian border.

He has been a soldier, a salesman, a scoutmaster and from 1995 till his school closed in 2012 a teacher of Dutch as a Second Language and Integration to refugees from all over the globe.

Being unemployed and economically overage, yet still some years away from retirement, he is a full-time writer of epic light fantasy adventures. His books are both published in the Netherlands, and internationally.


Rhidauna

(The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1)

 Rhidauna
~Released: June 29th, 2015

~Publisher: Red Rune Books

~Length: 264 Pages

~Genres: Young Adult, Fantasy


The night before his Coming-of-Age, Ghyll and his two friends escape their castle on a clandestine boar hunt that will forever change their lives. The hunt proves a disaster, and with one of them badly wounded, they return just in time to see their island castle destroyed by macabre warriors from a dragon boat, and by flocks of fire-breathing birds. Ghyll's eighteenth birthday turns into a nightmare as they flee into the night.

Now begins an epic journey to find out who is trying to kill them – and most importantly, why?

Fortunately, they can count on the help of new friends, including a sometimes overly enthusiastic fire mage, an inexperienced paladin and a young beastmistress who is also a ferocious mountain lioness. It soon becomes clear that not one but several sorcerers want to kill them. Are those blackrobes really followers of a terrible, long-forgotten organization?

And whose cold hand reaches across the boundaries of space and time to crush weakened Rhidauna?

Note from the Author: This version has been revised on some vital plot points.


Hours later, they reached Gromarthen. The rain had stopped at last and in the dusk, the lights of the town looked warm and inviting.
Ghyll tried to remember what he knew of Gromarthen. It was one of the many rich trade ports along the Yanthe River. A burgraviate, held for the king by an old friend of Uncle Jadron’s. Damn, he thought. I’m too stupid to remember. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stay awake.
They passed the massive gate and stopped at the guard house. Two guards flanked the entrance, their halberds gleaming in the light of the lanterns. Ghyll’s training took over, and he straightened. He nodded to the men. ‘I am Squire Ghyll Denhalf from Tinnurad. Call the officer of the watch, please.’
One guardsman hesitated, but his mate had already disap peared into the building. Moments later, he came out with a sergeant, a gray-haired veteran, scarred by war. The man assessed the situation with a single glance, and saluted. ‘Good evening, Squire. How may I help you?’
We come from Tinnurad. I bear an urgent report for the lord burgrave,’ Ghyll said. ‘My friend needs immediate medical help.’
The sergeant looked at Damion and turned to his men. ‘You there, call the lieutenant. Ask him to come here. You two bring the wounded man to the infirmary. To see the castle’s healer,’ he said aside to Ghyll. ‘A White priest, not one of those sweet-talking quacks. If you’d be so kind as to step inside, Squire, my officer will be here di rectly.’
Ghyll and Olle followed him into the guardroom, while a soldier took charge of the horses. In the light of the torches, the sergeant gave them a once-over. Ghyll knew he didn’t look a nobleman in his scruffy hunting armor, soaking wet and covered in blood. We’re a mess, he thought. He’ll kick us out.
Instead, the old warrior beckoned to one of his men. ‘Get me two of our specials and make it fast, before the lieu tenant comes.’
The soldier’s face fell. He hurried away, and returned a little later with two stone mugs.
This keeps the men goin’ on cold days.’ Straight-faced, the ser geant nodded at the steaming mugs.
The strong fumes made Ghyll reel as he took a sip. By the gods, mully! he thought. The hot spiced cider returned some feeling to his body as he drank it all, gasping and with tears in his eyes.
With a nervous glance at the door, the soldier snatched the empty mugs away and left.
Moments later, a young officer in the blue and silver of the Guard in Gromarthen entered the room. He paused in the door and raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, who have we here?’
Ghyll lifted his chin. ‘Lieutenant...?’
The guards officer came to attention and bowed. ‘Davall. And who are you, sir?’
I’m Squire Ghyll Denhalf from Tinnurad with an urgent message for the lord burgrave.’
Davall looked the young men over. Like the sergeant, their weary faces and soaking wet hunting clothes must have conveyed their urgency, for he nodded. ‘You’ve never been in Gromarthen before, Squire?’
Ghyll shook his head. ‘No.’
I’ll ride with you.’ Davall turned to the sergeant. ‘Have the Squire’s horses brought, please.’
The sergeant saluted. ‘You heard the lieutenant,’ he shouted to his men. ‘What’s keeping those horses?’
Once they were mounted, Davall seemed to hesitate. ‘I don’t want to pry, but to brave the Tinnurad trail in this weather is a desperate move. You bring bad news?’
Ghyll’s face worked. ‘Yes,’ he answered in a hoarse voice.
The lieutenant accepted his reticence and without another word led them into the town.


Zihaen

(The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 2)

~Released: June 29th, 2015

~Publisher: Red Rune Books 

~Length: 329 Pages

~Genres: Young Adult, Fantasy


How did his parents and brothers die? Where their deaths really accidents, or were they killed? These questions young Ghyll Hardingraud must answer before he can ascend Rhidauna's throne. 

Ghyll’s search for the truth leads him and his Companions on a journey back to the past as he slowly unravels a dark conspiracy. 

Once crowned, the young King Ghyll still has to finish the mission his dead uncle imposed on him. The journey takes him and his trusted friends through inhospitable lands and dangerous swamps to the endless steppes of Zihaen, looking for the Voice from the West. He discovers he isn't the only one. His vindictive enemy pursues him, aided by undead forces. 

Note from the Author: This version has been revised on some vital plot points. 

Zihaen: “Full of all the elements of the fantasy genre, Mr. Horsman writes with dynamic symbolism and in-depth magical flair. His core groups of characters use their uncanny strengths and paranormal powers to heighten the plot's progression. The setting changes are extreme in nature, yet are described with sensory detail, making the ‘make believe’ visibly believable.” (Readers’ Favorite 5* Review) 


The agitated sound of trumpets drowned Ghyll’s words. Davall jumped up and grabbed his helmet. At the same time, the tent flap opened and an officer rushed inside.
General!’ There was panic in his voice. ‘We are under attack from the air by whole swarms of burning birds.’
Dar’khamorth phoenixes.’ Ghyll did his best to suppress the fear that exploded in his breast. ‘General, I suggest use your archers and artillery. Keep those birds at a distance, or they’ll burn everything.’
Outside, the confusion was absolute. Tents caught flame and turned into burning traps. Half-dressed soldiers ran around, some in blind panic, while in the air firebirds dove and danced, sowing fire all over the camp. Here and there, a subofficer knew what he had to do, but to Ghyll’s surprise most of the officers stood helplessly looking around.
Ghyll felt his animated sword Childegard vibrate on his back, and instinctively he ducked. Over his head went one of the phoenixes straight for the command tent, and in seconds, Davall’s headquarters was ablaze. Ghyll couldn’t see the general anywhere and for a moment he wondered whether Davall was still inside.
Olle left his side, shouting to a group of archers. ‘Don’t bunch up. Spread out! Watch each other.’
See what you can do in this mess,’ Ghyll told the others. ‘Torril, stay with me and hold that standard high.’ He drew his sword. ‘Childegard, thanks for the warning. That damned bird would’ve shaved me.’
You don’t need a shave yet, Sire, Childegard thought, with a faint chuckle. Well, we’ve gone to war then. His soft singing filled the air.
We’ve gone to war... Ghyll looked around and tried to discover how the battle was going, but the smoke from the burning tents masked a lot of the action.
Two figures appeared. ‘Where is the general?’ the first one said, his voice shaking. Ghyll recognized him as the officer closest to Davall.
I’m afraid he’s still in his tent,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see him come out. Who are you?’
Colonel Tovias, the adjutant. Oh Gods, the general.’ The man seemed on the verge of panic.
Colonel,’ Ghyll said as steadily as he could. ‘You should collect as many of the soldiers as you can. Rearrange them in groups to fight the fires. We must leave the defense to the archers and the artillery today.’
The second figure stepped forward. ‘I’m Marris, of the Stormriders. I came to report to the general that my people are awaiting his orders.’ She glanced at the distraught adjutant. ‘As he isn’t available, I will mount an aerial attack.’
Ghyll saw a slightly built woman of middle age, in a blue uniform. ‘Stormriders! I had no idea you were here, commander. You are very welcome. Please, do whatever you can.’ Marris bowed and the two officers disappeared back into the smoke.
From the other end of the camp came the sound of heavy mangonels trying to swat the firebirds. Ghyll heard cheers and Torril tugged at his sleeve. ‘We got one!’
Suddenly, a firebird came straight at them. Curse it, no cover anywhere! Ghyll lifted his sword and with his other arm, he pushed Torril behind his back. Childegard, help!
The sword laughed. Ice and snow, cold fun. The blade had turned white as a deadly icicle and when it attacked, small snowflakes swirled around. The attacking bird was as big as a raven, and covered in flames. Its beady eyes stared at Ghyll. Squawking, it opened its hooked beak and his wings pushed fiery tongues in their direction. Ghyll took a swipe at the monster’s head, while Torril screamed. Again, the bird sent a wave of fire, but the cold from the magic sword absorbed the heat and they felt nothing. Once Torril understood they were in no danger, he gave vent to a stream of Nhaelish profanity. Again, Ghyll slashed at the phoenix, and this time his blade connected. The bird somersaulted and crashed to the ground, convulsing as the flames slowly died around it. Torril jumped forward and hacked wildly at the feathered body.


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