Kan Savasci Cycle by Chase Blackwood Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Tears
of a Heart
Kan
Savasci Cycle Book 1
by
Chase Blackwood
Genre:
Epic Fantasy
Winner
of John E Weaver Excellent Reads Award
#50
of 100 Best Fantasy Series Ever - reedsydiscovery
He's
been called the Scourge of Bodig, the Bane of Verold, but most know
him as the Kan Savasci. He's one of the most feared men alive. Chaos
and war have followed him like an angry shadow.
The
one problem, as the world faces the wrath of forgotten gods, Kan
Savasci is nowhere to be found.
The
annalist, a man trained in the ancient arts of the arkein, has been
tasked to uncover the whereabouts of the Kan Savasci at any cost. In
order to find the man, one must unmask the depths of his reclusive
history.
The
clock is ticking as Verold descends into darkness.
Delve
into an award-winning fantasy novel described as "epic,"
"beautiful," and "reminiscent of Rothfuss' work."
SAMPLES FROM: “TEARS OF A HEART” by Chase Blackwood
It was on
a warm Sumor day that he found himself on one of the many roads leading to the
great city on the shores of the River Lif. Irrigation streams carved channels through the valley, sectioning
off parcels of land for farming. Aeden had never seen farming on such a scale.
The thoroughfares were made of crushed stone and were plied upon by thousands
of groups. Travelers, troupers, farmers, merchants, and the nobility all made their
way over the vast network of roads. The route he took led to the heart of Bodig. By the third day he
could make out the great Red City. Massive walls of maroon-hued sunstone
enshrouded the city. The early morning light graced the sunstone and cast it in
luminescence, giving it the appearance of a giant gemstone. To his left, the River Lif carved a wide, slow-moving channel. Its
waters shimmered in the morning light, feeding the great vine of the central
kingdom. There was almost too much for Aeden to process. He had grown
accustomed to the quiet of the forest. The sights and sounds sparked lucid
fragments of crumbling memory. A brief flash of him sitting about a campfire
settled in his mind. He was back in his village, sitting next to Devon after a long day
of training. Their bellies were full and stories of faraway lands were told to
amuse and to educate. He would purposefully position himself to watch the
firelight play with Dannon’s delicate features. That night was the story of the
Great Empire to the West. How one man set about uniting three massive kingdoms. Aeden blinked back tears and attempted to clear his throat of the
constant lump of sadness that now resided there. He glanced down; surprised to
see he was clutching the lock of Dannon’s hair. He tucked it back into his
pocket and followed the movements of the boats plying the River Lif in an
effort to distract himself. Brightly colored sails flapped in the subtle wind. Flags
demarcating noble houses of trade snapped and fluttered. Dark-skinned men
appeared as insects in the distance moving about the wooden decks. Aeden
couldn’t help but wonder what Devon would think of it all. Thoughts consumed Aeden, swallowing the hours as the sun rose into
the afternoon sky. He had followed a trouper’s caravan to the walls of the Red
City. A series of piers stretched out to his left. Boats of various make and
shape were docked. Men were busy casting lines, offloading cargo, or shouting
orders. Smaller skiffs lay anchored, awaiting their turn, sails folded and
tucked away. Soldiers stood alert along the road leading to the huge gates.
They had the solid look of pillars, sweating under the Sumor sun. The symbol of
an oak tree with a single sword underneath emblazoned their red chest armor.
Aeden quickly wrapped his bodark bow, quiver, and Templas sword within the
folds of the great shroud cat’s skin that he carried upon his back. He huddled ever closer to the multi-colored wagon in front of him,
its wheels creaking over the gravel and stone. Aeden was temporarily cast in
shade as they squeezed through the massive archway of one of the main entrances
to the city. Huge metal gates stood open, the black bars stood in stark
contrast to the differing shades of red brick that comprised the walls. The
bricks themselves were partially transparent, as if they struggled to retain
the color within. A shove from behind snapped him out of his fascination and
forced him into the city. He was surprised at how many people were making their
way into Bodig. It reminded him of the mass elk migrations he had seen back
home. Once within the city walls he left the relative safety of the
lumbering trouper caravan. The smells of spices, humanity, and rotting foods
flooded his senses. A dizzying array of colorful stalls lined the great artery
leading deeper into the capital. People shoved, shouted, and bargained as they
clogged the streets. Small alleyways twisted off the main road like branches of
some great tree. Smaller shops lined the alleys cast in shade by red canvas
strung overhead. Bins of spice stretched into the twisting depths of each alley
he saw. He never knew there were so many spices in all of Verold. Foreign words were uttered all about him. People pushed past him
as he watched a small group of children beg for food. All the while the
swelling tide of humanity pushed him ever deeper into the heart of the Red
City. Hopefully toward a place of greater quiet, he thought. Aeden passed another wall and another open gate. He paused,
briefly running a hand along the strangely translucent, red stone. This second
section was nearly as busy as the first. People continued to push their way
through the crowds like rain upon an open mountain. Almost immediately the stench of feces, blood, and death hit him
like a fist to the stomach. A cacophony of squeaks, squeals, barks, and hollers
trumped the haggling shouts of the populace. Live animals of every shape and
size imaginable were chained, caged, or otherwise enclosed and for sale. The
ground was a slippery mixture of dung, urine, and water, all running in thin
runnels over faded stone. Flies buzzed about in angry clusters. They droned around
incessantly. They were attracted by the ever-present metallic tinge of blood.
Small rivulets of red ran from the stands where animals were killed. Impatient
customers watched in agitated boredom, swatting at flies as butchers worked
their craft. The scene was fascinating, gruesome, and mundane.
The hours
stretched by slowly under the sultry embrace of the day. The heat made his
clothes stick to his body. His skin was red from the sun and his mouth was dry
and thirsty. In that span of time he heard the shouting and haggling of slavers
peddling their slaves. Men walked past his cage, looking inquiringly upon the
fresh crew and the four monks. On occasion words were exchanged between one of
the slavers and the perspective buyer. It wasn’t until the sun was a couple of hours from setting that
Reem returned. The green-robed fat man procured a key and the crew members of
the Seventh Sage were called forward. The monks were told to remain
behind. Aeden moved to the far side of the cage and attempted to watch the
sale of the crewmembers. They were led to the block one at a time. “Salvare still watches over us,” Aeden heard Odilo whisper. He turned to see Odilo comforting Adel. Neri sat in a corner
staring at a spot on the ground. “He’s forsaken us to this hell,” Adel responded. “Salvare wouldn’t
allow men such actions.” “He’s allowed far worse. Empires have been built on the backs of
the less fortunate. It is the faith that He reserves judgment for that final
breath that allows one to accept such atrocities,” Odilo replied gently. Aeden stared at Odilo for a moment. The fundamental idea of the
Holy Order of Salvare flashed before his eyes, and its one glaring weakness now
echoed loudly in his mind, faith. It was a word often used, but what
strength did the word hold when imperial soldiers were allowed to slaughter
innocents in Nailsea? What did faith do to stop the pirates from capturing the Seventh
Sage? What would faith have done to stop the draccus fiend from destroying
his home, his family, and his friends? The answer was nothing. He required something more
tangible, more powerful than faith. “Seventh hell isn’t punishment enough for them,” Adel responded,
anger evident in his eyes. Good, Aeden
thought, use your anger to remain strong, to retain a sense of self and
purpose. He watched Odilo and Adel for only a moment longer before turning his
attention to the auctioning block. “Hada sani kre gecelum!” The green robed man shouted,
gesturing for them to get out. The four monks shuffled out of the cage at the direction of the
fat guard. They were led past empty cages where slaves had been held and then
sold. As they moved toward the auctioning block Aeden’s stomach tightened. He
was about to be sold as a piece of property. Would he be bought by someone
fair? What type of work would they demand of him? Fear reared its ugly head and
fanned the flames of anxiety.
Tower
of the Arkein
Kan
Savasci Cycle Book 2
2017 Royal
Dragonfly E-Book Award Winner, 1st Place
Beverley Hills
Book Award Finalist: Fantasy
2017 Best Book Awards Finalist:
Fantasy
#50
of 100 Best Fantasy Series Ever - reedsydiscovery
Trapped
as a slave, facing an impossible decision, Aeden must choose between
his friends and his soul...
The
clock is ticking as the world descends into darkness.
He's
been called the Scourge of Bodig, the Bane of Verold, but most know
him as the Kan Savasci. He's one of the most feared men alive. Chaos
and war have followed him like an angry shadow. The one problem, as
the world faces the wrath of forgotten gods, Kan Savasci is nowhere
to be found.
The annalist, a man trained in the ancient arts
of the arkein, has been tasked to uncover the whereabouts of the Kan
Savasci at any cost. In order to find the man, one must unmask the
depths of his reclusive history.
SAMPLES FROM: “TOWER OF THE ARKEIN” by Chase Blackwood
The cliffs
that rose to either side of the River Lif were sheer walls of immense beauty.
They had the appearance of having been sculpted and smoothed over the
centuries. Veins of marble colored the walls, creating patterns that the mind
struggled to understand. The cliffs were highlighted in rays of light under a still and
quiet sun. A startling blue sky watched over thick puffs of white clouds that
billowed about lazily. The morning air was cool, and the subtle texture of
history weighed upon the gentle breeze. “We’re getting close,” the archduchess said, approaching Aeden. Aeden looked up, surprised she had ventured out into the sunlight. Alina had spent the entire prior day and night in the shelter of
her cabin. Perhaps she had simply come for some fresh air. He didn’t care the
reason. She was out, and he was happy. “Close to what, my lady?” Aeden asked. She pointed ahead to the gentle curve in the river. The cliff
walls on either side grew narrower and even taller still. “Godsend’s Pass,” she said reverently. Aeden nodded his head, as if he knew what she was talking about.
Verold was huge. In the last couple of years, he had seen more of it than he
had ever imagined, yet he knew that he had only scratched the surface. There
still lay vast continents unexplored, unclaimed islands beckoning the
adventurous, and places that lay uncharted and unseen by human eyes. He had read about The Great Mysteries of Winter’s Bind, The
Forbidden Forests of Varna, the wild tribes of Dimutia, and only a scattering
on the great empire that once was Templas, yet the more he read, the more
ignorant he felt on the vast span of history that was Verold. Aeden’s revere on the breadth of his ignorance was interrupted by
movement. He noticed one of the crewmen join the other at the front of the
barge. He then glanced out along the portion of water before them. They were
alone. No other rivercraft was within sight. The waters were moving quicker as
the river narrowed, but never dangerously so. As they rounded the great bend, the clouds parted and shafts of
light fell upon the rock sculptures of Godsend’s Pass. There, stood immense
carvings of each member of the Scapan, the Old Gods; Anat, Ansuz, Baal, Balder,
Bellas, Enlil, Gauri, Ghut, Huta, Kegal, Kurat, Marduk, and Zhov. They stood proudly on the southern side of the River Lif. Each
crafted in such detail, one would have thought the sculptor had just finished
yesterday. Aeden studied each in open-mouthed awe. Here they were. Here were
the gods of his people, The Thirteen. Here was a reminder of his failure to
avenge the fallen villagers of S’Vothe and free them from their semi-mortal
coils. “They’re amazing aren’t they,” Alina whispered. Aeden looked over. She was closer now, studying his expression.
She seemed amused by his amazement. He closed his mouth, his face turning
slightly red. He normally masked his emotion the way a fire gecko masked its
scent. “We had something similar back home, the Sacred Pools we called
them, but,” Aeden paused, taking a moment to study every lovely line that made
up Alina’s face, “they were nothing so large and impressive as this,” he broke
his gaze and gestured to the statues. “You see that one there,” Alina pointed to the tallest in the
center, “that’s Magis, many believed him to be the most powerful of the old
gods.” “We called him Ansuz,” Aeden said quietly. Alina turned to look at him. Her face oddly passive. “What did you say?”
Aeden
stood on the deck of the Tempest, as he watched the shores of the
Imperium fade away. Adel stood by his side, silent as a willow. A gentle wind spread the salty spray from the bow across the stern
of the ship. The sun was warm and the sky free of clouds. It felt like nature
was working to bring peace to Aeden. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth of
the sun and the soft touch of the sea air. He smiled. It was a new start. He would find answers and purpose on the Isle
of Galdor. Aeden then looked to Adel and nodded to himself. “You got the letter,” he said quietly to his friend. Adel looked up at his adopted brother and clapped a hand upon his
shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything. Adel could tell Aeden was hurting.
Adel had been surprised to receive a letter from the First House
of Bodig, from the archduchess herself. Several of the monks had been curious,
teased him, and gossiped. The letter had been an invitation to join Aeden. It
was a letter releasing him from the bonds of the Holy Order of Salvare and
allowing him to experience Verold. “You remembered,” Adel replied. Aeden merely nodded, remembering his promise to let Adel know if
he left Bodig. “I couldn’t stay at the monastery anymore,” Adel said quietly,
“not after everything I had seen on the pilgrimage. Not without Odilo, and
Thomas, and you.” Aeden looked over to Adel and managed a smile. “We’re starting a new life,” Aeden said. He looked across the cold waters to the distant shores of the
Imperium. Aeden felt a pang of sadness as he was carried farther from his old life,
swept away from the sweet touch of the archduchess. “What happened?” Adel asked. Aeden continued to stare across the open ocean. Somehow, he felt
unable to answer. If he spoke, everything he was feeling would come spilling
out. Instead, he simply stared at the ever-changing pattern of the sea. “I’m here my friend,” Adel said in a whisper, “and I’m not going
anywhere.” Aeden closed his eyes. There were the obvious physical indicators of Aeden’s encounter at
Water’s Gate. In fact, when Adel had found Aeden, blood was running down
Aeden’s face, blood flowed from a cut in his arm, and a gash in his leg. Adel
helped treat the wounds, cleaning, sewing them shut and wrapping them as best
as he could. It was the emotional pain that lingered. It shrouded Aeden the way
mist clung to a mountain peak. So, Adel did what any true friend would do. He
remained by Aeden’s side. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t need to. Adel let his own questions dissolve into silence. The continental landmass faded to nothing but a line upon the
horizon as the ship drew away. Sailors rigged sails, tied knots, and busied
themselves with the activities of sailing. Aeden hardly noticed. He didn’t notice as the sun slowly traveled through the horizon.
He didn’t pay any attention to the other passenger, a female from the north. He
hardly even paid attention to Adel, the one friend he now had in all of Verold. Instead, Aeden sat on the ship consumed by thought. The gentle
rocking of the caravel, the soft caress of the salty air, and the warm touch of
the sun only served to transport him further from the setting. The ship’s sails billowed under the prevailing wind, and the Tempest
cut a white swath through the azure waters. Memories of Aeden’s last sea voyage drifted languidly into his
mind. He saw the nearly toothless captain, Nawfel Murad Q’Bala, covering
the Bocian, the holy book of Ghut, written by the prophet Beccid. He remembered
the boatswain Hamal Badi Agir and their bout beneath the unrelenting sun of the
Gulf of Galdor. That’s when Aeden’s thoughts
turned sour. The bloodied memory of Hamal being
thrown off the Zafer lingered like the ill-struck chord of an otherwise
beautiful symphony. The memory of Odilo rose above the raging savagery. Aeden recalled when they had manned the bilge below deck. He
remembered when they had spoken. Odilo had told him of his past, of the horrors
he had witnessed as a boy. Odilo had spoken of the monk with a scarred face who
had saved him, a former Deacon of Somerset. Last, was Odilo’s hint that Aeden
might not be suited for the monastic life. This was the crux Aeden faced and it nagged at him with
unrelenting purpose. Who was he? He had been groomed to become leader of the Thane, yet they had
been wiped out in one act of violence. He had left the Holy Order of Salvare,
turning away the safety and relative solitude of monastic life. He was not to
be a slave, he had proved that beyond doubt while held captive by Jal Isa
Sha’ril. And he was not to be with the archduchess. It was this last thought that carried the bleak weight of anguish.
Alina Cynesige, the Archduchess of the First House of Bodig and Holder of Keys,
had turned him away. The cold hand of despair squeezed at his heart. It choked
all thought, until all he could see was the lingering images of the
archduchess. He glanced about desperately in an effort to clear his mind. Aeden
hardly noticed the female passenger from the north. She too was looking out at
sea. A cloud of loss surrounded her and only compounded his sense of solitude. He might as well have been on another ship traveling on another
sea. Aeden was stuck in the past. One would imagine he had been thinking about the night he had
killed an Inquisitor. His injuries still chafed as the ship rolled with the
waves at sea. But they’d be wrong. He was thinking on more bittersweet things. The physical discomfort he felt, reminded him of sitting in a room
alone with Alina Cynesige. It reminded him of her gentle touch as she stitched
his arm. As she leaned forward, smiled and watched him. It reminded him of
their first kiss. It had been so soft, so warm. Images of the archduchess haunted him with her beauty. Her smiling
eyes had been seared into his mind’s eye as if brandished there with a hot
iron. Her laughter echoed in his head and images of her half-naked form spilled
into his consciousness like warm wine. Aeden surrendered to his thoughts as his heart bled emotion.
Into
the Fold
Kan
Savasci Cycle Book 3
Continue
the Award Winning Saga...
For over a millennium The Fold has
been a carefully guarded secret, shrouded in mystery. Within its
shadowy depths the greatest of the old gods had carved a world unto
himself. A place unrivaled in its beauty, obscurity, and
danger.
Trapped within The Fold, under the tutelage of the
last arkeinists, Aeden must overcome his greatest obstacle, or die
trying.
Welcome
to Chase Blackwood's author bio, where he'll try to write something
interesting about his life that captures your attention.
Chase
Blackwood's life has been defined by struggle the way a moth battles
an insect zapping light. He's studied martial arts since childhood in
an effort to overcome fear. He's lived in a half dozen countries in
an effort to "find himself," traveled to over 60 countries
in an effort to "find humanity," lived in nine states just
for the hell of it, oh... and the military has had something to do
with that too. Chase has enjoyed combating terrorism, working as a
federal agent, and also really likes puppies.
His most recent
passion, puppies aside, has been working on the Kan Savasci Cycle, a
series of fantasy novels that pulls from his life experiences to make
the most vivid world imaginable.
How
do you find time to write as a parent?
Great question! For me, it
ultimately boils down to time management.
Before my child was born,
many of my friends and family members said my life would completely change.
They said nothing would be the same. I was told to get ready to rock a dad bod,
as I’d be forced to skip the gym. I was told I might as well stop writing as
I’d have no time to write, and to forget travel.
Now, there is an element of
truth to the lack of time. A child is a massive responsibility. I think it’s
one of the greatest responsibilities a person can have. The amount of time and
energy focused on children is exorbitant. There is also a need to sleep when
time allows. Although, I also have friends who tell me I’ll get enough sleep
when I’m dead.
As for time to write, I’m
fortunate to fall in the category of having purposefully planned for a baby. I
understand this isn’t the reality for everyone, and for those single parents, I
don’t know how you do it. That is a challenge and a stress I wouldn’t want to
undertake.
So, back to answering the
question at hand. I am an early riser and my little angel is not. I awake at
the butt-crack of dawn and write whilst everything is still and quiet. I find
that I’m more focused before the sun touches the horizon. There are fewer
distractions when my slice of the world is still sleeping. The compromise, I
often need a small afternoon nap. Thankfully my child likes nap-time as much as
I do.
Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
The covers are eye catching!
ReplyDelete