The Shadowed Path The Jonmarc Vahanian Adventures Vol 1 by Gail Z. Martin Genre: Epic Fantasy
NOTHING AHEAD BUT VENGEANCE – NOTHING BEHIND BUT BLOOD Soldier. Fight slave. Smuggler. Warrior. Brigand Lord. You may have encountered Jonmarc Vahanian in the Chronicles of the Necromancer but you don’t really know him until you walk in his footsteps. This is the start of his epic journey. A blacksmith’s son in a small fishing village before raiders killed his amily, Jonmarc was wounded and left for dead in the attack. He tried to rebuild his life, but when a dangerous bargain with a shadowy stranger went wrong, he found himself on the run. Gail Z. Martin returns to the world of her internationally best-selling books with these thrilling ales of adventure and high fantasy, collected together here for the very first time. OVER HALF A MILLION CHRONICLES OF THE NECROMANCER BOOKS SOLD “Attractive characters and an imaginative setting combine in an excellent, fast-moving quest novel.” – David Drake on THE SUMMONER. Goodreads * Amazon
The Dark Road The Jonmarc Vahanian Adventures Vol 2
“May you lose all you love to the flame and the sword—and the Dark Lady take your soul!” Jonmarc Vahanian fled from the raiders and monsters that killed his family, but when danger dogs his steps once again, he leaves the traveling caravan that gave him shelter to become a mercenary in nearby Principality. His fighting skills help him rise through the ranks, and draw the attention of a Nargi general—and the general’s undead mage. An old, unsettled score turns deadly, trapping Jonmarc in dangerous intrigue. He can save himself—and betray everything he holds dear—or die a hero as the raider’s curse holds true. This collection is the second set of short stories and novellas that reveal another phase of Jonmarc’s growth from a blacksmith’s son to becoming one of the greatest warriors in the history of the Winter Kingdoms. Soldier. Fight slave. Smuggler. Warrior. Brigand Lord. You may have encountered Jonmarc Vahanian in the Chronicles of the Necromancer but you don’t really know him until you walk in his footsteps. Gail Z. Martin returns to the world of her internationally best-selling books with these thrilling tales of adventure and high fantasy, collected together here for the very first time. OVER HALF A MILLION CHRONICLES OF THE NECROMANCER BOOKS SOLD Goodreads * Amazon
Gail Z. Martin discovered her passion for science fiction, fantasy and ghost stories in elementary school. The first story she wrote at age five was about a vampire. Her favorite TV show as a preschooler was Dark Shadows. At age 14, she decided to become a writer. She enjoys attending science fiction/fantasy conventions, Renaissance fairs and living history sites. The Martins have three children, a Maltese, and a Golden Retriever. Website * Newsletter* Facebook * Pinterest * Twitter * Goodreads * Amazon
CONSCIOUSNESS RETURNED SLOWLY, and Jonmarc struggled for breath. He opened his eyes and
saw only darkness. Something heavy was on his chest, while whatever was beneath him was cold
and oddly shaped. Pain flooded back with awareness, as if hot coals had been pressed to his side.
Whatever lay atop him stank of sweat and shit and cheap liquor.
Gradually, memory sparked. Sweet Chenne, I’m lying in a heap of dead men! Panic tingled
through him, warring with the pain. He gathered his remaining strength to try to hurl the body of
the raider off of him when he heard voices nearby. It took all his will to force himself to lie still,
breathing shallowly, listening.
“Is that everything?” The voice was whiskey-roughened and deep.
“Nearly. Loadin’ it all onto the ship now, Cap’n.” This voice was reedy and nasal. “Couple
of the men wondered if we could bring a few of the wenches with us, shame to waste fresh
meat,” he said with a lecherous chuckle that turned Jonmarc’s stomach.
“Poke ’em and choke ’em,” Whiskey Voice replied in a bored tone. “Bad luck to have
women on a ship, ’specially women who’ve seen you kill their men.” His voice dropped
conspiratorially. “They’re like as not to slice off your nuts and branch when you’re not lookin’.”
“Aye.” The reedy-voiced speaker sounded disappointed. “This shithole of a town waren’t
good for much, if you ask me. Provisions are slim, women are ugly, not a man in the place worth
the bother to slave, and hardly no gold nor silver.”
“Patience,” Whiskey Voice replied. “Think of it as practice. We’ll take Ebbetshire next,
when we need more provisions and a night on the town,” he said with a chuckle. “Then
Eiderford when I’m sure the new crew know their places.” He paused. “Best we be gone before
anyone comes to see about those flames.”
Jonmarc felt a jolt as they threw another body on the pile. He heard boot steps recede, and let
out a shuddering breath. It hurt to move; it ached to breathe. One leg had gone to sleep under the
weight of the dead raider. His side was sticky and warm, seeping blood. He passed in and out of
consciousness, then awoke once more to silence.
I don’t care if there’s anyone left to see. I’ve got to heave this big oaf off me before I
suffocate, Jonmarc thought, taking strength from his foul mood. He shoved with all his might,
rolling the body of the burly raider to the side and scraping the man’s entrails off of himself.
Jonmarc took a steadying breath, and struggled to his knees, looking around. He found his sword
and picked it up, watching the shadows warily.
The main street was dark and silent. The shops had burned down to charred posts, and the flames
that flickered inside the ruined buildings cast a dim glow across the carnage. Bodies lay
everywhere. Some were dead raiders, but most were villagers.
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