THE DREADBOUND ODE SERIES Epic Grimdark SciFi Fantasy by Jordan Loyal Short ➱ Series Tour with Giveaway
The Skald's Black Verse
The Dreadbound Ode Book 1
by Jordan Loyal Short
Genre: Epic Grimdark SciFi Fantasy
Brohr has been lied to, abused.
All he wants is to live in peace, away from the ignorance of his village, to outrun the raging ghost which haunts him.
But a hidden evil seeks to harness his fury.
Accused of murder, hunted by ruthless soldiers, Brohr delves the way of the Skald, unlocking forbidden blood magic as he unearths terrible family secrets.
When the red moon is broken, and all is lost, it’s up to Brohr to lead a rebellion, or face the end of the world!
An epic blend of norse fantasy and grimdark sci-fi!
Praise for the Dreadbound Ode...
"Rich in detail, bringing his tale to life with a foreboding atmosphere and characters that are intense. Good dialogue, rapid-fire action scenes, explosive magic and wicked political machinations." -Tome Tender
"This is extremely well-written grimdark and if you like your fantasy and sci-fi gritty...this is a book you should pick up." -Booknest
"The Weeping Sigil never stops. It has a relentless forward motion. It's painful, and its glorious, and there are twists and turns that I never saw coming. It made my heart pound and yes, there was even a tear or two." - Sarah Chorn, author of Seraphina's Lament
"Perfect for grimdark fans." -Grimdark Magazine
"[The Weeping Sigil] took everything that I had loved from The Skald’s Black Verse and lifted it to a whole other level, and I for one can’t wait to see what Jordan Loyal Short will do next. This is a fantastic book, great for anyone who enjoys a delectable mix of fantasy and science fiction, with a good dash of grimdark." - Beneath a Thousand Skies
"I love the cultures, the magic system, the spaceships and the interplanetary communication. There's lots of action and peril. It’s a great book! I’d very much recommend it." - Lee Conley, author of the Dead Sagas
The Weeping Sigil
The Dreadbound Ode Book 2
Adrift in the void, Henrik’s rescue is only a prelude to slavery.
But his new life on Tyria is not at all what he expected. When the illustrious House of Quoll purchases him, Henrik finds himself living in the home of his old enemy, Prefect Brasca Quoll. Desperate to hide the truth of his last days on Heimir, Henrik dives into the murderous game of Tyrianite politics. Devastated by the catastrophe on the Norn homeworld, the Federation teeters on the brink of civil war.
While the Shining Ones maneuver their champions for the final confrontation, Henrik’s fevered visions unveil the scope of Moriigo’s nightmarish rebellion.
Aboard a stolen voidcraft, Brohr and Lyssa hurtle into the depths of the starry abyss, on a desperate exodus in search of safe haven. But the outer reaches of the system are full of strange worlds, haunted ruins, and bizarre cults.
As anarchy grips the streets of Tyria, Henrik vows to reveal the true peril facing the Federation: Moriigo’s return! While rival electors, assassins, and federal inquisitors plot the downfall of House Quoll, Henrik must bind himself to the future of his onetime enemies, lest the horrors of his prophetic visions come to pass!
Travels in the Dark
The Dreadbound Ode Book 3
The final chapter of the Dreadbound Ode...
Lyssa is going to the Dead Place and everyone she killed will be waiting.
As the Hidden One’s twisted plan to resurrect the Deep Gods unfolds, the only way to stop him is a secret buried in the land of death.
But Lyssa has not given up. If the Deep Gods can return, so can she.
Can Lyssa find a way back? Can she delve into hell’s darkest corners and emerge with the lore to stop the Deep Gods’ rise? Or will she become a lost soul, like so many of those she loved in life?
Ancient horrors will wake. Skalds will sing. And a blind seer will see the shadows gather.
Lyssa Pedersten has tasted poison, and hell had best beware.
Sample#1
Someone shouted Brohr’s name. A woman. Brohr looked up, squinting through the blood to see his old friend Vili’s mother, Inga. She spat on him and shouted “Brute!” before the crowd swallowed her up again.
Brohr tripped over a step he hadn’t seen. Two soldiers grabbed him by the arms and hauled him onto the gallows. Someone detached his shackles from the chain linking him to the other prisoners. Each of them was led to a wooden box beneath a noose by a pair of legionaries. The prefect shouted to the crowd, but Brohr wasn’t listening. He looked over at the other men as he mounted the wooden box. He realized the troublemaker who had been added to the execution was Sten’s brother. The siblings looked at one another, saying something, but he couldn’t tell what. His ears were roaring. He looked out over the crowd; they shook their fists, their lips curled back, teeth bare, snarling.
One of the soldiers looped the noose over his head and cinched it tight around his neck.
Birgit stood at the far end of the square, holding Vili’s hand, shoulders trembling as she sobbed. Brohr’s face flushed, his ears burned. He felt naked, humiliated that they should be here together, that they should see him like this. A sudden panic seized him that he should say something, should think something, somehow find a way to make sense of it all, maybe even to make it better before they—
“For Torin.” The legionary whispered in Brohr’s ear and kicked the box out from under him.
The first sharp pain shot through his body as his fall snapped the noose taught. It was unfair that they had manacled his arms behind his back. What chance did he have now? He struggled against his own suffocating weight, his feet desperately seeking the edge of the box, just out of reach.
The rope constricted around his neck. With every strain, every second, it strangled the retreating light, set panic like a wildfire.
Sample #2
Brohr broke from cover, dashing down the hill and crossing the open ground to the blackened gate. A thrill washed over him as he fell into a rhythm, feet pounding over the field. His grandfather back-peddled away from the fighting, retreating to a safe distance. Lar slashed the guard who had opened the gate across the belly with his axe. The man dropped to his knees, fumbling with his entrails in the heartbeats before Lar took his head off. Brohr drew his sword, forming up with the other outlaws as they closed in on the federals.
The remaining sentries hurried down the ladders from their platforms and fell back in good order with the rest of their comrades beside the barracks. They lined up shoulder to shoulder, shields up, and braced for the outlaws’ charge. Crossbows twanged, wrenching Brohr from his excitement. Beside him, one of the bolts found Lar’s gut and the foul man fell over, screaming.
“Brother!” Brohr shouted. His mouth went dry, his ears ringing. Swords clashed, and men cried out around him. He wanted the rage to drown his fear.
Federals threw open the doors and rushed out of the barracks. Some of them wore their armor, but a few were bare chested, looking comical in their leather skirts and conical helms. Each of them carried a short sword and a round wooden shield with a metal boss. Despite the success of the outlaws’ ruse, the federals fell into ranks with practiced discipline, forming two tight lines between the barracks and the slave quarters. A naked ordinal emerged from the far side of the building, deeper within the fort, half of his face still covered in shaving cream. He clutched a sword belt in one hand and his hat in the other. Bellowing orders, he ran up behind the line and took his place, completing the formation.
The outlaw charge crashed into the ordered defense, the line holding. Brohr slashed at the nearest Tyrianite, an older man a full head shorter than he was, skinny and fast. He felt his brother stir, drawn in by the fear and danger. The man hefted his shield just in time to deflect the attack and jabbed at Brohr’s belly with his sword. Brohr sucked in his gut and scooted back to avoid the thrust, but the legionary to his left caught him on the temple with the rim of his shield.
The blow staggered Brohr, and he stumbled back a pace, cocking his head at the sound of a wailing infant. Keeping discipline, the little legionary didn’t break ranks to finish him. The naked officer shouted fresh orders, and a squad of men detached from the back line, tromping off through the mud and disappearing behind one of the nearby buildings.
Brohr shook his head, fighting off the dizziness, stoking the fire of his brother’s wrath with bloody thoughts. It felt different this time, not a cacophony that would drown him out while at its grisly work but a tune he could dance to. He smiled, delighted despite the carnage, at the sudden note of fraternal accord. His eyes flicked to his little adversary, and the smile fell away. Brohr felt his bowels quail. He almost stabbed himself, so sudden his eagerness to let blood. The runt took a step back, and his ordinal barked at him to form up.
Jordan Loyal Short is an author of epic fantasy. His first novel, The Skald’s Black Verse, is a dark and beautiful story about families, cultures, and beliefs at war with themselves. The protagonist, Brohr, must navigate the tangled loyalties and unforgiving biases of a planet conquered by invaders from another world. Using black magic, and the bizarre bond he shares with his stillborn brother’s spirit, Brohr unravels the truth about himself and an eon spanning war that has reached its end game.
Jordan has worked in a variety of industries, as a web developer, bartender, copywriter and more. He lives in Washington state with his wife where he is currently daydreaming about the end of the world.
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$20 Amazon giftcard – 1 winner
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