Writing a Book part 3: Research

I’ve done the next video in the series about writing. 

Riftborn Book 1: The Last Raven Book Launch

I have a new book out today. It’s on kindle, paperback, and audible. Go read and (hopefully) enjoy.

Order Links:



Amazon UK

Audible UK

Writing a Book Part 2: Prologues. Yes or No?

Writing a Book Part 2: Prologues. Yes or No

The Last Raven: Prologue

Seeing how it’s less than a month until The Last Raven is released on 8th November, I thought everyone might like to have a look at the prologue.


Five Years Ago

“Are you sure you can do this?” Isaac asked me, checking on my well-being for the twentieth time in the last few hours. Isaac had a bald head and was clean-shaven, with dark skin, and eyes that appeared to bore into you. He was over six and a half feet tall and loomed over everything, and everyone, around him. I tried very hard not to sigh. He was only checking up on me. And I appreciated it, but also wished he’d just shut up for a while.

We were stood on the stern of a fifty-foot ship as it bobbed beside the dock of a small island some miles off the coast of Newfoundland. Technically, the island wasn’t meant to exist, it wasn’t on any maps. Even satellite imagery showed nothing but clear blue ocean.

It didn’t even have a name, although after learning about what was happening on it, I’d named it Hell’s Mouth.

The captain of the ship, a stout man of about fifty with long grey hair and a beard, left the galley and walked over. His crew, all half dozen of them, were busy unloading the cargo for delivery.

“If you’re going, go,” he said with slightly more irritation than was deserved, considering how much money he’d been paid to get us there. “Remember, my people know nothing about our deal. As far as anyone is concerned, you’re spare crew. We don’t want trouble.”

“I won’t do anything to jeopardise them,” I promised.

I checked the earpiece that Isaac had given me, tapping it twice.

“Thanks for that,” Isaac said with a slight wince.

We walked down the gangway onto the dock, and jumped up into the rear of the truck where the crates of cargo had been stored. I banged twice on the back of the truck cab, and we set off along the only road on the island.

It was a fifteen-minute drive at a fairly slow pace as the rain lashed against the outside and the wind whistled by the exposed rear of the vehicle.

“Lucas,” Isaac said in my ear.

“Yes,” I replied, leaning back against the side of the truck and spotting the second, identical truck with the rest of the captain’s workers aboard.

“Thank you for doing this,” Isaac said.

I let out a slight sigh. “Thank you for asking me.”

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you,” Isaac continued. “I know you’re going through some rough times. That you’ve been going through rough times since . . .”

“My friends were all murdered and I couldn’t stop it,” I finished for him.

“Yeah,” Isaac said softly. “But this could be the start of you finding your feet again.”

I nodded, realised Isaac couldn’t actually see me, and felt a bit foolish.

The truck started to slow and, a moment later, it stopped altogether. I sat still as the driver spoke to someone outside. The wind made picking up the individual words impossible, but a few moments later, a guard in a midnight blue uniform, a black hat, and carrying an AR-15 poked his head around the corner of the truck, looking into the cargo area where I sat.

I waved.

“You comfortable back there?” he asked, chuckling.

“No,” I said. “But I drew the short straw, so I get to sit with the boxes. If you like, you can sit back here on the way to the docks.”

The guard laughed. “I’m good, thanks.” He banged twice on the truck, and after a count of ten, we lurched forward as we were allowed into the compound of the . . . asylum.

The asylum was originally built as a prison in the 1940s when some enterprising monster decided that, as Alcatraz was doing so well, they should build a second one, even further away.

In the 1960s, it changed to Netley Asylum. It was shut down in the 1980s when a reporter exposed the experiments that were being done on the prisoners sent there. Lots of people were quietly paid a lot of money to go away and shut up, but it reopened about five years ago and there were concerning rumours about the place we needed to investigate.

The truck moved through the outer gate of the asylum. The gates were made of iron, painted black, and sat in the middle of a hundred feet of sixty-foot-high chain-link fence. Two guard towers sat at the far end of the front fence. A guard post sat beside the entrance gates, which rumbled closed, all done through a switch inside the hut.

I looked out the back of the truck as it drove through the front courtyard of the asylum grounds. Our info showed the asylum was one main building with an entrance at the front. It had two more at the rear—which wasn’t accessible unless I wanted to climb an electrified fence, and more guards patrolling the black tiled roof of the building. There were two loading bays either side and a smattering of other exits, secured by ID cards, which we didn’t have.

The front entrance—two large, imposing metal doors painted red—was shut, and the truck continued to the side of the building, reversing into a loading bay where two guards waited.

“You new?” one of the guards, a large man with military style haircut and tattoos on the back of his hands, asked me.

I pushed down the ramp at the back of the truck. “Yep,” I said, stepping off the platform and making sure it was anchored to the bay.

I turned to find the man stood directly behind me, staring at me. He was a similar height to Isaac, so a good few inches taller than my own five-eleven.

I ignored him, walked back into the truck, and unloaded the first plastic container.

I worked there for a half hour until the second truck came in and the guards got bored watching me.

The truck was nearly empty, with most of the contents on the loading bay as the guards started to check everything.

“You can start moving it into the building,” the tall guard told me. “Just keep your nose to yourself.”

He actually flicked my nose, and it took me a good few seconds to remember I wasn’t meant to leave a body count behind.

Restraining myself, I pushed one of the plastic containers through a set of open double doors and into a large storage area. I’d studied the blueprints, so I knew that there was a door halfway down the storage room.

The door was hidden behind a tall set of shelves stacked with tins of various foods.

You wouldn’t even know it was there unless you went looking for it. The door was painted the same white as the wall. Even the door handle was painted white.

I looked behind me, checking for guards, and opened the door, stepping through into a stairwell and quietly closing the door behind me.

The stairwell was dingy; it had been a long time since it had been used on a regular basis, but there were strip lights at the top of each set of stairs, so at least I didn’t have to make the climb in complete darkness.

Four flights later, I came to the only exit. The second floor. I wished the light above my head was off, but breaking it might set off some kind of alarm somewhere, and I wasn’t about to risk it. I pushed open the door and found myself in a small room, with a black-and-white tiled floor. The light was dim and had a black shade, illuminating very little. It was enough to see the door only a few steps in front of me. I pulled the door open and stepped into the brightly lit hallway beyond.

There were windows down one side of the hallway, with six doors opposite—a fact I’d memorised from the blueprints. The last door on the left was my target. I had maybe twenty minutes before I was missed. Before the trucks headed back to the ship. Maybe thirty if I was lucky.

I jogged to the end of the hallway, paused, and peered around the corner, down the hallway that ran perpendicular to the one I was in. No one there. Maybe luck was on my side after all.

The dark wooden door looked like every other door on the second floor of the asylum, except for the metal name plate on it, which read dr callie mitchell in black capital letters. I knocked three times. Waited. No answer.

I tried the door handle and found it unlocked. The whistle-blower who’d reported to Isaac said that she never locked her door.

I pushed open the door and darted inside, closing it behind me. I immediately understood why Dr Mitchell didn’t lock her door. There was little to worry about being stolen.

There were no cupboards, just a table in the middle of the room, with a chair, a computer, and several coloured plastic envelopes. A sideboard with locked drawers sat under one long window that showed off the doctor’s various awards, and the walls were decorated with her qualifications. I wondered if they were real or if she’d fabricated them along with the reason for the island’s existence.

“Get in, get out,” Isaac said in my ear.

“Seriously?” I whispered.

“I hadn’t heard from you in a while,” he said as I walked over to the envelopes on her desk and started going through them. Each one had a different name on them.

“You have ten minutes,” he said. “My contact says she’s in the garden right now; she does it every day. Talks to a different patient out there, shows them the futility of where they are.”

“You are not helping,” I said through gritted teeth. “The files on the patients aren’t all here. These envelopes just have stuff about names and ages but nothing about what she’s actually doing here. They’re perfectly ordinary files. She’s got a locked sideboard; they must be . . .” I stopped.

“Lucas,” Isaac said, worry creeping into his voice.

Shit. She has a Raven Guild medallion,” I said in horror, staring at the object. It was copper in colour, made from hardened stone, and was in the shape of a buckler shield with a sword and hammer crossing over each other in front. A steel raven sat on top of the shield, as if holding it. The whole thing was about the same size as the palm of my hand. It took a lot of effort not to reach out for it.

There were seven Guilds, each one named after a different bird, but only one Guild had been massacred. My old Guild, the Ravens. I felt my heart race.

“Lucas,” Isaac warned.

“Why does Dr Callie Mitchell have the medallion of one of my murdered Guild members?”

“I don’t know,” Isaac said. “But we don’t have time for this now.”

“Isaac, I need to know,” I told him. “They were my family. My friends. My Guild. I was meant to protect them. I was . . .” I stopped, and picked the medallion up, feeling the emotions crash inside of me.

“Lucas,” Isaac said, almost a whisper.

“Give me one week,” I told him.

“Have you lost your mind?” he hissed.

“There’s no intel in here; we’re no clearer on what’s happening here than before we arrived,” I bargained.

“You’re only meant to go there to find those files,” Isaac said. “My contact assured us they would be there.”

“The files are a bust,” I said. “They’re not here.”

“So, it’s a setup?” Isaac said.

“Looks like it,” I said. “Guess I’ll just have to find out what’s going on. One week.”

“Lucas,” Isaac started, before sighing. “If they find out who . . . or what you are, you’re dead. You know that, right?”

“Yep,” I said. “I’m going to have to go dark, Isaac. No comms.”

“Damn you, Lucas Rurik,” Isaac said. “Not like I have much of a choice, is it?”

“No,” I told him, hearing footsteps outside in the hallway, running toward the room. “Guards are on me already. That seems unnaturally fast. Get Hannah to make me a realistic backstory. Reporter, my normal name. Got it?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Isaac said.

“You don’t hear from me in one week, come get me,” I said, mentally preparing myself for whatever was about to happen.

“If I don’t hear from you in one week, I’m tearing this fucking island apart,” Isaac assured me.

“Stay safe,” I said.

“Stay alive,” Isaac said.

I removed the earpiece and smashed it underfoot, picking up the medallion and taking a seat in Dr Callie Mitchell’s chair as the door burst open and the tall, sneering guard ran into the room, his sidearm aimed at me. He screamed at me to get on the floor, to lock my fingers behind my head. The usual stuff. I complied and still got a kick to the ribs for my trouble.

I looked up as Dr Mitchell strolled into the room. She was forty-ish, with long dark hair touched lightly with grey, piercing blue eyes, and olive skin. She wore a black-and-white dress that stretched down to her ankles; her arms were bare, revealing a sleeve-effect of mixed tattoos in picture-perfect ink. Each tattoo was a different bird: falcon, owl, eagle, hawk, vulture, kite, and lastly, raven. The latter of the birds sat wrapped around the wrist on her right hand, and the sight of it made the anger inside me surge.

I was dragged to my feet and forced to look at Dr Mitchell as she picked up the medallion and turned it over in her hands. “Who are you?”

“I am the King of Finland,” I told her.

The guard punched me in the stomach.

“Who are you?” Dr Mitchell asked again.

“I am the Queen of Finland,” I told her.

That one got me a smash in the face with the butt of the AR-15.

My vision went dark as Dr Mitchell leaned over me with a chilling smile. The last thing I heard were her words: “Welcome to the asylum, Your Majesty.”

Pre-Order Links



Amazon UK

Audible UK

No Gods, Only Monsters – Audible

I know that quite a few people have been waiting for this, but as of 11th October, No Gods, Only Monsters will be out on Audible. It’s currently available to pre-order on whatever Audible you wish to use, and if you are considering it, I really appreciate it.

Riftborn Book 1: The Last Raven

My next book release has gone live for pre-orders. Out on the 8th November, this is the start of a new series, in a new world, with all new characters.

The Last Raven will be out in Paperback, Kindle, and audible versions.

Lucas is a riftborn fighter bent on vengeance in this thrilling urban fantasy/detective noir series from the bestselling author of the Hellequin Chronicles.

The peace between the rift and humanity has always been tenuous. It’s up to the Guilds to protect it, removing whomever—or whatever—poses a threat, whether human or rift-fused. Lucas Rurik used to be part of the Raven Guild. That is, until someone murdered all of its members—except for him.

That was seven years ago. Now, Lucas keeps to himself, avoiding getting too close to anyone lest they become targets themselves. But when one of his oldest friends at the Rift-Crime Unit calls upon him for help with a case that’s already taken down people who mean a lot to him, Lucas can’t resist stepping back into the fray.

Something is killing FBI and RCU agents alike—something unlike anything Lucas has ever seen before, on Earth or in the Rift. Even more concerning, the gruesome assaults seem to be linked to Dr. Callie Mitchell, a depraved and disturbed individual who treats the rift-fused like her own personal lab rats.

And when someone Lucas thought he could trust turns on him, he realizes these killings aren’t just the random attacks of some terrifying new kind of fiend. They’re connected to whoever killed off his Guild all those years ago—and that’s something Lucas just can’t let lie . . .

Pre-order Links:



Writing Update May 2022

Just a quick video to talk about current sales, upcoming work, and the launch of the new book, No Gods, Only Monsters, which was out on the 1st May 2022.

No Gods, Only Monsters – Chapter 1

My new book, No Gods, Only Monsters is out on 1st May 2022, so I thought some of you might like to read the opening chapter.

Links to be able to pre-order are going to be at the bottom of the post, and please do remember that pre-orders really do help an author out. Thanks.

Diana, the Roman Goddess of the hunt, lives alone on the far edge of the Roman Empire. When an old friend arrives looking for help, Diana finds herself thrust back into her old life, and old problems.

With innocent lives caught in the crossfire, Diana realizes that the only way to ensure the safety of her friends and loved ones is to do what she does best: hunt her enemies down.

Chapter 1

There’s no escaping the Roman Empire. For centuries, they’ve moved across the world like some damnable plague, seizing and consuming all before them. Cutting down anyone too weak or stupid to not take precautions. 

It wasn’t like I could just blame the Romans for that particular lifestyle choice. The Greeks, Spartans, Egyptians, Carthaginians, hell, even the Sea People. They all conquered and took what they wanted. Sometimes I think that humanity is just about war and will never be satisfied. Sometimes I get drunk and try to forget about it. 

Today was the latter. 

The jug was empty. It wasn’t the first, although it was the first that annoyed me enough to throw it down the hill with as much strength as I could muster. The pot shattered in the darkness, followed by the yelp of an animal of some kind. Wild boar probably. They were in abundance around the hillside. 

I sat outside my home on a wooden chair and looked up at the night sky. The stars twinkled with possibility. I didn’t know what stars were, but I was pretty sure they weren’t the gods looking down on us. I’d met the gods, I used to be one of them. ‘Used to’. 

I picked up another jug of wine and proceeded to drink. 

The darkness did little to diminish my eyesight, and a few moments later an irritated boar shot over the path a few feet ahead. The smell would have given it away if I hadn’t seen it. I considered going after it; it had been a while since I’d had boar, but I was too drunk and I was pretty certain if I stood up, I’d fall down, which would be embarrassing—for me. There wasn’t another living human, or human-shaped thing within an hour ride from here. That had been sort of the point of building my home here. The point of living here. 

The two young mares I’d purchased from a dealer in Troas a few years ago, were safely locked in the small stables that sat a little way from my home. Celeritas and Robur had been the majority of my company since I’d gotten them. 

The lights from the town of Troas lit up the countryside in the far distance, like a smudged glow. I’d been here over two centuries ago, just passing through when the town had been little more than a hamlet with delusions of grandeur. But the Romans arrived and turned it into a bustling city; a port linking the eastern and western parts of the vast Roman Empire. 

I drained the last of the jug and discovered I’d drunk the lot. Five jugs. Next time I’d buy seven. 

I hadn’t intended to drink it all, but it was coming up to the anniversary of my moving to Troas, and it brought back nothing but bad memories. Occasionally, I wondered if I was becoming a drunk. Five jugs would probably kill a human, but within the hour I’d probably be back to sobriety. The half werebear side of me could heal wounds in minutes that would kill a human, but it didn’t let me stay drunk for long either. And even when I was drunk, I didn’t forget. Never forgot. Another great thing about being almost immortal. You have a lot longer to remember all the shitty things you did and saw. 

With a long, protracted sigh, I leaned back in the comfortable chair as the first drops of rain fell on my head. “Go away,” I shouted at the sky, just in case one of the bastard gods was actually listening. 

My home was a modest two-storey affair, with the lower floor containing a table and few chairs, while the upper had a bed. I didn’t need much. There had been a leak in the red tiled roof earlier, and I was glad I’d gotten up there and fixed it or I’d be sleeping in a puddle of water. 

The rain began to fall harder, so I gave up and went back inside, taking myself upstairs as the wind whipped through the balcony entrance, knocking over a plain wooden shield I’d propped up against the wall. I’d been meaning to decorate it but hadn’t decided how, and now it was going to need to dry out. 

The bed was inviting, and I sat for a moment, meaning to stay awake until I’d sobered up, but instead found myself lying down, and not long after, falling into a deep sleep. 

I woke to find it still raining, although one of the rays of sunlight that peeked through the cloud caught me in the eyes making me blink and try to bat it away. I’d have to punch Helios in his stupid face the next time I saw him. I knew he didn’t really pull the sun every morning, but Helios was a dick, so he usually needed punching for something. 

It was a short walk to the nearby mountain summit, and looking down into the deep waters of Lake Egeria, I dove from the top of the cliff, hitting the water in an almost perfect motion. I continued on under the crystal-clear water toward the bank on the other side. 

“Diana,” a voice called. 

I raised my arm to block out the sun, but I couldn’t figure out who the voice belonged to from sight alone. I sniffed the air. “I’m not interested,” I shouted and went back to swimming.

“Diana,” she called again as I resurfaced, running my hands through my shoulder-length dark hair and turning my neck until it audibly cracked. 

“Not interested,” I shouted, diving back under the water. She wasn’t going to go away; they never bloody well did. Far too stubborn, far too petulant. I touched the rock on the bottom of the lake, and wondered how long I could hold my breath. I’d counted to a thousand once, then had to surface because a shark had tried to eat me. Turns out sharks don’t taste that great. 

The second my head broke the surface, it was filled with the same voice. “Will you please get out of the water.”

I half sighed, half snorted, and swam over to the bank, pulling myself up and out with ease. 

“You’re naked,” she said. 

I looked down at my body, the water still dripping off it, joined by the increasingly heavy rain as the last vestiges of the sunlight vanished behind fast moving black clouds. “Who swims clothed, Artemis?” 

Artemis was almost the same height as me, but her hair was blonde and was currently tied in exquisite plaits that contained several coloured feathers. I didn’t know why she’d spent so long getting her hair done, but there was a lot about Artemis I didn’t understand. 

Some believers of the Roman gods said Artemis and I are the same person, something I’ve found to be exceptionally strange. Artemis’ skin was similar to my own olive tone, and she had green eyes, she was open and honest and, quite frankly, annoying. She didn’t like to rock the boat, didn’t like to get into confrontations, which considering her prowess as a hunter and fighter wasn’t something you’d think she would be concerned about. Of all the Greek Pantheon, Artemis was one of a handful I actually didn’t want to actively hurt after just being in their company. Didn’t mean I was happy to see her. 

“Are you going to get dressed?” Artemis asked me. 

“You’re a goddess,” I said, ignoring her question. “You’re a goddess who works with Zeus. I’m pretty sure you’ve seen more naked people than just… well, anyone ever.”

“Yes, but they don’t all look so…” she didn’t finish the point. 

“Awesome?” I asked for her. 

Artemis rolled her eyes. 

“Buxom?” I asked as Artemis turned and headed away with an audible sigh. “Effervescent? Tantalising?” I continued as I followed. 

“Stop it,” Artemis called out without turning around. 

“Glorious,” I suggested. “Spectacular.”

Artemis spun back to me as we reached the bottom of the pathway that led up the cliff. “Seriously, Diana. Stop it.” There was no playfulness in her tone. 

I nodded in apology. “I meant nothing by it.”

“I know,” Artemis said and started off again. 

Artemis and I had been a little more than just friends on a number of occasions, but she devoted herself to becoming the best hunter, the best fighter, the best warrior that she could, and didn’t have time for flights of fancy as she called it. Sometimes she accepted my teasing and flirting, but occasionally, when something was important, she shut it down fast. I used to feel bad for her, that she didn’t allow herself to get into relationships, but honestly, she seemed happier alone, and if that was what made her happy, then I was all for it. 

“Why are you here?” I asked when we reached my home. 

“Dress first,” Artemis said, pointing to the house. “Talk later.”

She didn’t look at me when I walked past, and I found a leather-armour skirt and top, taking time to put on my sandals before I attached my sheath on my back and slung my double-bladed axe to it. 

I found Artemis stood outside the house still, looking off into the distance, down toward the ocean. “Troy was there,” she said almost wistfully. 

I followed her gaze. “I know.”  

“Did you ever see it?”  She asked as I stood beside her. She looked over at me and I saw the sadness in her eyes. 

I shook my head. 

“It was magnificent,” she said softly. “So many people, so many sights and sounds. And men destroyed it for… pride and revenge.” 

“The gods helped,” I said. 

Artemis looked over to me. “Yes, we did.” She didn’t sound all that happy about it.

“Hera especially wanted Troy gone.”

“It was the beginning of the end of Hera being happy with the power she had,” Artemis said. “The beginning of the end of Demeter being neutral too. She hated that Hades and Persephone were together, but she didn’t support Hera either. I think Troy ruined the gods as much as the gods ruined Troy.”

“You didn’t come here to discuss history,” I said as Artemis once again looked off to where the magnificent city had once stood. “Ancient history at that.”

Artemis shook her head and seemed to find herself again. “No, we have more important matters.”

“Should I say I’m not interested now? Or wait until you’re done?” 

“You were always… petulant,” Artemis said. “I need your help.”

“Why not ask your Pantheon? I don’t do the god stuff anymore.”

“I can’t ask them,” she said, clearly not wanting to discuss the matter further. 

I sat on the ground near the entrance to my home as the wind tugged at the wooden door, threatening to throw it open. “I don’t do god stuff,” I repeated. “Not now.”

“This isn’t god stuff,” she said. “This is me asking you for help.”

“How’d you even find me?”  

“I’m quite literally the god of hunting,” Artemis said with a flourish of her hands. “It’s sort of my job.”

I narrowed my eyes, got to my feet, stretched, and entered my home, with Artemis following close behind. 

“The boar you lobbed a jug at told me,” she said. “The birds had been telling me for a while now. I imagine you saw more above than usual.”

There had been an unusually large number of sea birds above. “How long have you been tracking me?”

“A few years,” Artemis said. “I wanted to check you were okay.”

“You could have just come and asked,” I said with a slight shake of my head.

“You wanted to be alone,” Artemis said sadly. “I didn’t know how you would take my interference. But this is too important to ignore. I need your help, Diana. Please.”

It was the please that hit me hardest. Artemis didn’t ask for help, she didn’t need it, and on the odd occasion she did, she’d have asked Persephone or Apollo before anyone else. The fact that she bypassed them to come to me did not bode well for whatever shitty thing she was about to ask. 

“What’s going on?” I asked.

There was a knock at the door, and I motioned for Artemis to wait a second as I got to my feet and opened it, ready to tell whoever was there that I wasn’t interested. There was a dwarf there. A Norse dwarf to be exact. He was five feet tall, so well over a head shorter than me, and wore dark grey metal armour. He was carrying a metal helmet under one arm, and a large battle-axe was sheathed on his back, much like my own, but he had two more hand axes hanging from either side of his waist. Also, a sword. Several daggers. And what looked like a short bow slung over one shoulder. He looked like he should be invading countries. 

He smoothed his long, ginger beard and cleared his voice. “Have you told her yet?” he asked Artemis, speaking in Latin while looking behind me. 

I turned back to Artemis. “Why is there a Norse dwarf at my door?”

“You know it’s fuckin’ raining out here, right?” the dwarf said. 

I turned back to him. “You worried you might get all that nice armour rusty?” 

He laughed, although there was no humour in it. “Aren’t you the fuckin’ witty one?” he said sarcastically before looking beyond me to Artemis. “I see why you like her; she must be a hoot with the rest of the Roman Pantheon.”

“You want to come in?” I asked, looking at the multitude of tattooed runes that covered his face and backs of his hands.

“Ah, what a fuckin’ splendid idea.” He stepped into the house and placed his belongings beside the door, taking time and care with the weapons until he shrugged off his drenched chainmail shirt. I’d seen them before on dwarves, but rarely on humans, and I’d never worn one myself. They looked cumbersome.

He removed his soaked linen shirt, revealing even more tattoos over his torso. “Anywhere I can put this?” 

“By the fire is fine,” I said, watching as he hung his tunic over a wooden bar close to the flames. “Most people who strip in my home have to give me their name.”

He looked back at me, embarrassed for the first time. “Ah, sorry.” He removed his huge leather gloves and offered me his hand; it was calloused, and the strength in it was easy to feel. “Skost.”


“Yeah, I know,” he said, turning to Artemis. “I know you told me to wait, but it’s not the weather for sitting outside under a tree. Anyway, there are people in Troas who I think might not be happy to see me.”

Artemis, looking out of the nearby window, asked, “Were you followed?”

“I’m not new at this,” Skost said.

Artemis looked back at him, the question still in the air. 

“No, I wasn’t followed,” Skost said with a sigh. “Although, I don’t think it’ll take long for someone to come here and ask questions.”

“Why would anyone be coming here?” I asked, getting slightly annoyed at being in a conversation where I had no idea what anyone was talking about. “Artemis.”

“You’re going to want to sit down,” she said. 

“What did Zeus do?” I asked, taking a seat.

“Oh, nothing,” Artemis said. “Not on this occasion anyway.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Skost said. “I saw a balcony above, that’ll be good enough.” He walked off without another word. 

“Artemis,” I said, my tone hard now. 

“Okay, about a year ago there was a notion to move the Minotaurs,” Artemis began. 

“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself. 

“Long story,” Artemis said. “Basically, their compound on Crete became no longer usable. We moved them toward Northern Dalmatia where there’s a realm gate to Niflheim. 

“The city in Helheim?” I asked, thinking of the massive city in the realm ruled by Hel. 

“No, different place,” Artemis said. “That’s Niflhel, this is Niflheim.”

I stared at her. “They did a superb job with the naming stuff part.”

Artemis sighed. “I think we may be getting off track.”  

“Minotaurs to Niflheim,” I said, trying to remember if I knew something about the place. “It’s a land of ice.”

“It was,” Artemis said. “Some of it still is, but it’s a huge place and nothing lives there except a few cities of humans. It’s a peaceful place. It’s a good place for Minotaurs to not be hunted or thought of as demonic.”

The anger in Artemis’ words showed her concern for the Minotaurs. No one had been happy with what had happened to them—except maybe Ares and Hera, but no one I cared about gave two shits what either of them thought.

“Nearly all of the Minotaurs were moved successfully,” Artemis said. “We were moving the last half dozen when we were attacked. It happened as we landed in Macedonia. A group of people in black and red, a deep red silhouette of a flying bird as emblems.”

“You know it?” I asked.

“Never seen it before,” she said. “They killed several guards, and the rest scattered. The Minotaurs vanished into the forests there.”

“You couldn’t hunt them,” I said. 

“No one can hunt them unless…”

“It’s the blood of the one who created them,” I said. “Yeah, I’ve heard before. You need a Gorgon then.”

“Hera and Poseidon helped create the Minotaurs to punish people, but they turned into a species on their own,” Artemis said. “They used the blood of a Gorgon to do it. Only Gorgons can track them.”

“You want me to find a Gorgon?” I asked. 

Artemis nodded. “I need you to find a Gorgon. And I can’t do it.”

“Why not?”  

Artemis looked away. “Because I can’t. Don’t ask more. Please.”

“Why can’t the dwarf do it?” 

“Because the dwarves are angry enough that several of their own were murdered by these assassins, and are looking for a reason to come here en masse.”

“The dwarves are itching for a fight,” I said. “What a shock.”

“I can hear you,” Skost said from the room above.

“A few questions,” I said. “One: where’s the Gorgon? Two: why didn’t you go to Apollo or Persephone for help, or anyone who isn’t me?”

“The Gorgon is on Corsiae,” Artemis said. 

“That’s some distance south of here,” I said. “A few days ride. Maybe less by sail, but this time of year the storms aren’t fun, and they arrive quickly. And a long way to go back to Macedonia after.”

“It can’t be helped,” Artemis said.

“And question two?” 

“I can’t ask them for help because I’m pretty sure that members of the Greek Pantheon are behind the attack,” Artemis said. “I don’t know who to trust.”

“Ladies,” Skost said practically jumping down the stairs. “I see horses coming this way.”

“If they are working with the people who attacked us, we can’t be found,” Artemis said. “The location of the Gorgon is known only to a few. If they should get to her before us…”

I looked out of the window at the closing riders. I turned, and moved a rune inscribed rug off the floor, revealing a hatch beneath it and lifting it. “Take the steps down to the tunnels below, I’ll join you after.”

“That’s some nice work,” Skost said, looking down the hole. “Really well maintained.”

“Can we discuss architecture when we know if people haven’t come to kill you?” I asked, passing Skost all of his weaponry as he descended the ladder after Artemis.

I closed the hatch, replacing the rune inscribed rug. It cut off the senses, making it harder to track people hidden beneath. It had been a present from the last time I’d dealt with the Norse dwarves. 

I glanced out of the window as the riders neared. It was still raining and windy outside, but I picked up my axe and walked out of my home to confront the riders. 

And there you go, I hope you enjoyed it.



The first new Youtube video in a while.

New Year. New Sale

Hello all. I know I didn’t post anything in January, mostly because I’ve been busy with writing my new series and if I’m honestly time got away from me.

I also need to start posting more often, so that’s something I’ll be hoping to sort out, although best laid plans and all that.

In the meantime, I have news of a sale in the UK and AUS for anyone who hasn’t picked up or has been waiting to pick up the Rebellion Chronicles.

The entire Rebellion Chronicles series is currently on sale on Amazon UK and Australia for only 99p (1.49AUD) each.

“To sum up, read it. Read all of The Hellequin Chronicles. Read all of The Avalon Chronicles. Read the novellas. Follow McHugh on social media (lovely man, very nice to his readers) and support him by preordering his upcoming works. You won’t regret it.”