The Sword of the Seraphs

[TheDarkFrontier]

The Sword of the Seraphs is a high fantasy trilogy that I'm currently in the process of writing. Here's a brief synopsis:

Set on the continent of Tir Helaeth, The Sword of the Seraphs follows the story of a landowner, who by circumstance inherits the status of knighthood from his close friend, and becomes the bearer of the eponymous Sword - an ancient and destructive weapon created as a last resort against a dark god - Vitria. Defying the coup-d’état rule of a powerful and ambitious prince of the realm and sworn to protect the people, a rebellion is ignited against the prince's destructive ambitions, plunging Tir Helaeth and its people into the war that will decide the fate of their world. Failure means domination, but will success come at too high a price for the conscience of the revolt's leader?

If you're interested in seeing more, follow on facebook or head over to the main website. Both pages have media releases including excerpts from the novel, and promotional concept artwork.

 

[TheDarkFrontier]

Here is an excerpt from the first novel - a skirmish between the revolutionaries and a group of royal cavalry.

“Jesid, you lead the left group, from here down to the end of the line”, Sanvord said, indicating the division.
“I’ll lead the other group; we’ll attack them in two groups. When I give the word, break off into one line. We need as many men as possible to engage in the first impact”.
“Understood, good luck my friend”. Jesid rode down the line, taking up position at the head of his group.
Holding the Sword high, Sanvord bellowed; “Advance!”

The thin two lines, a motley collection of mounted militia began their weary advance forward, reassured only by the presence of the Sword and its bearer. Looking back, Sanvord saw the remnants of the convoy entering the woods, as the two lines of cavalrymen trudged forward, as their opposite number came down from the hill and onto the flat ground. They began to assume a thin crescent-formation, as they were led forward by their banner.
Without waiting, Sanvord thrust the Sword forward. The two ranks broke into a thundering charge, sending an earthquake of rumbling through the land.

The Black Prince’s cavalry began to charge forward to meet them, a crescendo of noise as the black mass hurtled toward them. The two units achieved ferocious momentum, each side wailing their battle cries and shouts of derision. As the two sides closed in, Sanvord levelled the Sword, its tip defiantly facing its enemy. Sanvord’s heart began racing as he saw the faces of his enemy. His grip on the Sword tightened.

“Now!” he yelled, as the two groups detached, forming one single line.

The manoeuvre caught the royal cavalry by surprise, as the two sides slammed into each other, a tremendous thundering crash as iron met iron. The Sword’s glow increased, as a blinding flash exploded from the blade. Those in front of the weapon were knocked to the ground, as Sanvord’s cavalrymen carved their way into the crescent. The air filled with the sounds of screams and the scrapes of swords against armour. Swinging the blade of the Sword back, Sanvord thrust the weapon at the nearest foe. The Sword cut through his breastplate with incredible ease, slicing through the man’s torso. Half of the man fell to the floor, still twitching as Sanvord recoiled in horror at the weapon’s power, a shower of blood drenching his armour.

The skirmish became a blur, as Jesid’s group stalwartly fought against their superior opponent, hacking away brazenly at their enemy’s flank. Several of the cavalrymen had become dismounted in the fray, and fought on foot amidst the mass of beasts, storming around with little care as to what they hit. Sanvord pulled hard on his mount’s reins, turning about before a valiant foe lunged straight at him. Parrying a flurry of sword blows, he swung hard with all his might, cleaving the man’s arm clean off. The man let out an ear splitting cry, as Sanvord thrust the Sword through his body, silencing him, the sound of armour and bone being crunched up by the blade.

As Sanvord hacked his way through the centre of the struggling mass, he caught sight of the Black Prince’s banner, still being held aloft, and defended by a ring of his fellow men. He thrust the Sword toward the banner;

“Go for the banner, my friends! Cut it down!”

Those who heard him above the cacophony of the battle turned their horses and lunged forward at the ring of soldiers protecting the standard bearer. Deflecting spear thrusts with the Sword, Sanvord cut his way through two stout cavalrymen, the weapon making short work of its opposition. Holding the Sword aloft, he cut down hard, aiming for the staff of the standard. The staff was sliced in two, the banner falling majestically into the dirt below.

A cry of panic followed from the remaining royal horsemen, as they saw their banner being trampled into the mud. The royal cavalry turned their horses about, and galloped back toward the hills, to the derisive, exuberant cheering of the guardsmen. A throaty roar of cheering rang out from those still left standing, as they began to re-form amidst the scene of brief, but horrific destruction.

“By the Gods!” bellowed one of the guardsmen, “We have won this day, by the Sword and its bearer!”

The other guardsmen joined him in a terrific cheer, as they steadied their excited mounts. The royal cavalrymen showed the meaning of haste as they charged their way back up the hills to the south-east, leaving a cloud of dust trailing behind them, a disorganised rabble, far from the disciplined mass they had previously faced.

Sanvord felt terribly exhausted, as he looked down at the Sword, gripped by his shaking hand as he struggled to cope with the adrenaline rush. The Sword had ceased glowing, and retained its silver shine. The memories of the weapon’s terrible power lingered in his mind like a sharp knife, a flurry of confusing thoughts. He carefully sheathed the Sword, and turned his horse about to face the cheering mass of guardsmen, their faces dripping with sweat from the heat of battle, their armour and blades sodden in blood.
“Collect our dead; we must re-join the column at once!”