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About Fire of the Forebears by L.A. Buck
Title: Fire of the Forebears
Author: L.A. Buck
Series: Heritor’s Helm #1
Genre: Fantasy
Pitted against one another, with the people and country they love in jeopardy, the daughter of a deserter and the son of the king have a chance to fulfill their forebears’ legacy—or destroy it entirely.
Twisted monsters called saja lurk in the shadows of the mountains. Rumors say the Fidelis, human wielders of an ancient elemental magic, again walk the plains. Not all in Avaron believe, and not all welcome the return of legend.
Kura’s a skeptic. But, she’ll cross and befriend centaurs, talking animals, and worse to save her family after the rebellion mistakes her for the land’s prophesied savior. And, while he’d rather negotiate with rebels than fight them, Triston can’t ignore prophecy. That was the sham his father used to steal the crown in the first place.
Over a century ago, their ancestors sailed the oceans in search of peace and died as heroes fighting for it. But heroes—and villains—aren’t always what they seem to be.
Inspired by Brandon Sanderson’s grounded characters and JRR Tolkien’s sense of wonder, Fire of the Forebears is a fantasy for fans who think a dual perspective adventure about the fate of one nation might still be pretty epic.
Excerpt from Fire of the Forebears
© 2022
L.A. Buck
The sunrise cast a sickly yellow glow over the city, bringing light to a scene of carnage better left in darkness. Triston stood in the center, droplets of rain cascading down his cloak, and grimaced as he surveyed the billowing tendrils of smoke and steam that emanated from the charred clearing. It was a bitter dawn—one he’d been dreading.
Twelve. There were twelve men unaccounted for after the last night’s battle.
So far they’d found seven, all of whom had died within the city after it’d been breached. Now, with the first of the morning light, Triston picked his way east of Tarr Fianin’s walls—or, more accurately, what remained of the walls. Several townsfolk were already attempting to replace the damaged logs, and they sent embittered glances in Triston’s direction. At the moment, he didn’t care.
Carcasses, stiff from death’s embrace, littered the clearing. A few were men—far fewer than Triston had first believed. During the battle he’d been unable to tell, but now he saw plainly the faces of his enemies: they were monsters, beasts that walked like men but wore the faces of animals. Perhaps this was clearest in death, their features twisted into unnerving snarls, their fur splattered in blood and matted by the rain.
He hadn’t believed it before, but he knew it now: the Wynshire was a dangerous place, and they never should have come.
Among the drab garb of the dead there shone a patch of bright red—a soldier’s cloak, the color undampened by the rain. Triston crossed the field to kneel at the dead man’s side. It was Mory, face pale, lifeless eyes staring up at the sunrise. Triston carefully pulled the man’s wet cloak over his body.
“Triston.” Seren’s voice broke the stillness. He maneuvered around the debris like a mother crossing a cluttered playroom to tell her child to pick up his toys. “I thought I would find you here.”
The anger that had been brewing in Triston’s chest threatened to boil over, and he clenched his teeth as he rose to his feet. He didn’t want a conversation, not now and not from him.
“Come on,” Seren said gently. “You can let the captains do this.”
Triston closed his fist around the sword hilt at his side. Of course Seren would say that; a strategist delegated the burden while a military man shouldered it. “How do you explain these?” He motioned toward one of the dead creatures as he looked Seren in the eye. “Is it saja? Not seen in Avaron for generations?”
“They’re not saja.” Seren’s apparent confidence set Triston’s teeth on edge. “They’re dangerous, though. And worse yet multiply in Lovaria even as we—”
“Stop. Just… stop.” Triston shook his head, and he couldn’t help but stare at the red cloak covering Mory’s body by his feet.
“It’s not your fault.”
Triston laughed bitterly. “Not my fault? What did I tell you yesterday? I said these towns were unpredictable. I said we needed more men.”
“And you were right.” Seren’s tone was somewhere between consoling and placating. “I should have listened. But I still outrank you: the siege was my decision.”
“But it was the wrong decision, and I knew it. I shouldn’t have let my men follow you.”
Seren’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean to suggest?”
Triston sighed. Did I really just say that? He ran his fingers through his wet hair. Yes, he’d said it. And he didn’t want to take it back. “I don’t know what I mean.”
Seren nodded slowly. “You had best find out.”
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About L.A. Buck
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.
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