The Legends of Ansu (Book 9)
Date Published: July 16, 2020
Jaran Saerk is an exile from the North, driven out of his homeland by a
sorceress who killed his family. Now serving as a warrior in the armies of
the Imperial Shen, he’s never forgotten his vow to avenge his family
and take back what is rightfully his.
Recently captured, Savarna hides a dark secret and doesn’t plan on
staying a slave for long. Once she’s escaped, she’ll slip inside
the Golden Palace and kill the Empress of Shen. When she meets the exiled
warrior from the North, she finally may have her chance.
Finvar the Droll is a retired thief who insists he can help Jaran in his
revenge against the witch. But whose side is he really on?
With enemies surrounding them on all sides, the trio must unite to stay
alive in a realm trapped between war and sorcery, and to take down the witch
Sheega before she destroys them all.
A huge figure knelt by a roaring blaze. A shaggy haired man he appeared,
with corded muscle and barrel-chest. He wore a kilt, but no cloak to cover
his naked torso. Like Jaran, the stranger bore many scars on that flesh. And
on closer inspection, he saw the man had only one arm. A distant memory
flickered through him. And a name.
The one-armed warrior. A god of the north. Jaran knew the god was testing
him. Despite his fear he stepped out, approached the crouched figure, who
looked up casually as he walked close.
“Your friends worry that you’ve left them, Jaran Saerk.”
The voice was a gravel-scrape and thunder boom, those eyes glints of blazing
sliver fire, the moonlight trapped inside.
“I needed time alone.” Jaran shoulder-tossed the elk in front
of the god as a gift. He heard it boded ill, meeting Tyho the War God alone
in the wild. “Time to think.”
“A gift for a gift.” Tyho rose to his feet, standing massive
before Jaran. He reached behind his back and produced a huge long-hafted
axe. “Your enemies are closing. You will need Griner to kill
Jaran felt uneasy. Why would Tyho want to help him? And what would he ask
for in return? Despite his misgivings, he gripped the weapon and thanked the
god. Tyho pinned him with that terrible gaze. “Use it well. Griner
belonged to Borian once, before that deity perished in the timeless wars. It
serves you now—in the new struggle.”
“You mean against the witch, Sheega?” Jaran hefted the axe. It
was heavy, the intricate rune markings glinted on its beard. He sensed power
in the weapon. Felt strength flowing into his arms. Strength and something
else. A slow burning rage. “I will avenge my father,” he told
“You had best go back,” Tyho said, his silver eyes blazing.
“Your little camp is under attack.”
About the Author
J. W. Webb is an English writer living in Georgia. Mostly he writes
fantasy, though sometimes diverts in even stranger directions. His epic
saga, The Legends of Ansu, blends the mystic grandeur of J.R.R. Tolkien with
the gritty realism of George R.R. Martin. Webb’s characters are three
dimensional and flawed, their world a tapestry of vivid color and constant
motion. All the books feature beautiful sketches by the late Tolkien
illustrator, Roger Garland. When he’s not writing, he spends his time
in the garden or attending to the demands of his cat-overlords and dog
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