Dylan Madeley's Blog
December 10, 2024
Author Interview
November 18, 2024
Their Village, Their Fortress
What if you couldn't believe the soldier who told you this because it sounded too farfetched, or something in his story didn't add up?
In Their Village, Their Fortress , a quiet farming community works through both those questions. Following that, they face a series of difficult choices. Some would take their families and flee, but that presumes there is anywhere to go. Some would fight, but only four of them have any kind of combat experience, and they expect a full battalion at their doorstep within a week. Prepare yourself for point-of-view that may shift every scene, but remains easy to track.
And prepare yourself for a glimpse into the mind of the man who leads that invading battalion.
Available for preorder today and releasing November 19th, 2024 via Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and Google Play.
Choose your preferred ebook retailer here.
Happy Release Day special - all 8 titles by Dylan Madeley will be available for 0.99 apiece across all four platforms from November 18th through 24th.
April 23, 2024
Prince Ewald the Brave, reviewed
Check out the Kirkus Review of Prince Ewald the Brave here.
March 29, 2024
The Redemption of Jarek, reviewed
"An enthralling epic that balances politics and morality with dramatic battle scenes and complex characters." — Kirkus Reviews
September 25, 2023
Distinguished Favorite 2023
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact: Dylan Madeley / dmadeley7@gmail.com
Author Dylan Madeley receives national recognition
through the
NYC BIG BOOK AWARD®!
(Ontario, Canada) — The NYC Big Book Award recognized The Redemption of Jarek by Dylan Madeley as a Distinguished Favorite in the Fantasy category.
The competition is judged by experts from different aspects of the book industry, including publishers, writers, editors, book cover designers and professional copywriters. Selected award winners and distinguished favorites are based on overall excellence.
The Redemption of Jarek by Dylan Madeley
Much of Jarek’s youth revolved around making him fit for the throne, but one terrible day in adulthood finds him defeated, humiliated, and banned from the capital. He may only return upon complete surrender. Once home, he faces a trial by his commanders, though they are also fugitives by decree. Their land is a former province cut off from royal support, only kept free by the number of soldiers loyal to Jarek; but he swore to uphold the terms of his defeat, never to attack the capital.
As every illusion Jarek lived under is falling apart, he receives a visitor who tells him how people have suffered under his oblivious leadership. He faces a choice: drink himself to death while everything falls apart or change his land for the better. The latter might be impossible.
Just as he makes his choice, strangers arrive from a part of the world unknown to him, seeking a free and peaceful life, warning of a tyrant who pursues them. The story of their homeland is also told.
What is Jarek willing to do? And will anything ever be enough?
The impressive roster of international and domestic entries resulted in a record year for book award winners in major categories. The competition draws a diverse and high quality author and publisher. The NYC Big Book Award boasts a worldwide entry pool from Asia, Australia, Europe, and North America. This year, cities such as Ann Arbor, Denver, Edinburgh, London, Los Angeles, Melbourne, Miami Beach, New Delhi, New York, Ottawa, Princeton, San Francisco, San Juan, Singapore, and Winnipeg were represented. Winners were recognized from Austria, Australia, Bangladesh, Canada, England, Germany, India, Israel, Italy, New Zealand and the United States.
Journalists, well established authors, small and large presses, and first time independent authors participated in remarkable numbers. Awardees hailed from Blackstone Publishing, Berrett-Koehler, Beyond Words, Casemate, Cinnabar Moth Publishing, Four Way Books, Fantagraphics, Greenleaf Book Group Press, Ideapress, Inner Traditions, Kogan Page, Ooligan Press, Riverhead Books, Rutgers University Press, She Writes Press, Story Monsters Press, Teacher Created Materials, The Wild Rose Press and the White House Historical Association.
“Our team is honored to highlight the excellence and achievements of a diverse array of authors and publishers,” said awards sponsor Gabrielle Olczak. “Their work represents a commitment to excellence. It is our mission and privilege to continue to showcase their work in an international forum.”
To view the list of winners, visit https://www.nycbigbookaward.com/2023winners
and distinguished favorites: https://www.nycbigbookaward.com/2023distinguishedfavorites
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February 14, 2023
Sample: A Friend of the Family
In The Redemption of Jarek, one journey is that of Galyna, a villager who sets out to petition Jarek when things become difficult. Along the way, she will require the hospitality of good neighbours. This is a small but important part of her journey.
This road that ran east to west across the realm was spacious and well maintained. Traders like Artem appreciated it, but the main purpose was to allow an army of defenders to cross from the Frontier to the far west, if necessary, with as few bottlenecks as possible.
The earliest part of her journey was a winding descent. As the incline became more gradual, the road straightened out, and she began to feel like she and Cezar were covering more ground in less time.
Immediately to the east of her home village Nimmlisok were a string of increasingly deserted settlements. These fields had been cultivated for many generations, but many were being retaken by wild overgrowth for lack of hands to work them.
She passed some homes, exchanging waves with distant people, for she hoped to get farther on her first day. As the sun dropped further in the sky and the most recent people she had encountered were now far behind, she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.
Squinting down the road in the falling dusk, she saw a tree and a trough which looked vaguely familiar.
Once she was closer, she remembered this place from a visit in her youth: Dyeryevina Madi. While she didn’t know if anyone lived here anymore, this was somewhere to let Cezar eat, drink, and rest. She was on the edge of a field; a structure of some sort lay on the other side…
Galyna climbed out of the saddle and examined the trough. It held water which looked clean; she thought it might be collected rain.
“Well, Cezar, you be the judge,” she said as she led him to the trough.
“Greetings!” A figure in the nearest field approached with a wave.
“Oh!” Galyna was startled but quickly waved back, her hope rewarded.
“I refresh that trough every day; I’m happy someone came by who needed it,” said the stranger who continued to approach.
“It’s great to see that someone still lives here,” Galyna said warmly.
The person squinted. “That’s a familiar voice, though I remember it sounding much younger. Galyna?”
It took them a moment to recognize each other, for each had been many years younger when they were first acquainted. Lucyna’s face had been difficult to make out this close to dusk, especially when shaded by the dark headscarf of a widow.
They embraced, then let go so they could get a better look at each other.
“I must assume you were about to ask me for a place to stay the night. I’ll hear no word to the contrary; it’s getting dark,” Lucyna insisted. “Let me have a look at that massive horse of yours before I show you where he can sleep.”
“Oh, thank you,” Galyna said no more and let her host lead the way.
They moved to the tree. This having felt like a long day, Galyna was about to lean on the tree, but the old friend of the family immediately warned her against it. Galyna turned and saw why.
Right where she had almost rested her hand, an impressively large caterpillar steadily rippled up the trunk. Long rosy bristles intermittently stuck out from bushy pale fuzz. One could not immediately tell the head from the bottom without reasonably assuming the creature was moving forward.
“Dirty little thing. I could get rid of it for you if there’s a stick laying about,” Lucyna offered. “Your palm would have swollen to the girth of an apple.”
“Thank you, but we should leave it be. I know that kind. One day it’ll have such lovely wings.”
“That it will, I suppose.”
The creature rippled further up the tree and out of sight.
“Well, that’s a lovely beast,” Lucyna took stock of the impressive draft horse.
“Do you live by yourself now, Lucyna?” Her guest asked.
“My husband died some years back, and when each of my children grew and married, they chose to move in with the other families.”
“And none of them offered for you to move in with them?” Galyna looked doubtful.
Lucyna smiled with conviction as her eyes swept from the horse to her guest.
“Dear, they absolutely did, and I refused.”
The young lady’s eyes were wide with concern.
“Don’t you get lonely? Do you never need help?”
Lucyna cast a circumspect gesture before she continued. “This land has belonged to my family for generations, and the roots of my soul must be nearly as deep into this earth as those of the trees. I will not be moved from it. Others come by for a visit every so often, like you. They can move here if they like, and if they don’t mind what it would take to expand the living space; but I can work and forage well enough on my own. In any case, one day they can lay me into the ground next to my husband and let the forest reclaim all the land we’ve borrowed from it.”
Galyna was reminded of Baba, who apparently wasn’t one of a kind. Both elders understood what mattered most to them, protecting it to the bitter end; neither greatly cared if others understood.
“Ah. As long as this is your wish.” She glanced at Cezar.
“But how is your village? Your family?” Lucyna asked.
“Nimmlisok has combined into fewer but larger households now; the land bears more for us when we work it together, and it’s easier looking after each other under fewer roofs. Still, we’re hardly better off than any other village I know about.”
Lucyna smiled, pleased to hear that old friends were surviving.
“And where might you be off to with your cart if you don’t mind my asking? Hoping to trade with the townsfolk?”
Galyna looked back at her host. “Actually, I must meet with Duke Jarek.”
Lucyna’s smile withered; her brow furrowed, and her lips briefly pursed with thought.
“Why must you? And why now?”
“Because the border with Duke Lenn’s province is closed by soldiers who will not let neighbours through, let alone traders. Duke Jarek’s commanders have taken so much from us over the years, and now we couldn’t even go to beg on the street of a prosperous place if we needed to. And if this carries on too much longer, I fear that’s what we’ll eventually be reduced to.”
“It’s gotten that bad after all. I wish I were surprised.” Lucyna glanced toward the tree as she considered this. “So, you all drew straws, and you had poor luck, young lady?”
Galyna shook her head. “I insisted. I wouldn’t have anyone else go in my stead.”
Upon hearing those words, Lucyna looked into the young woman’s hazel eyes.
“Ah. As long as this is your wish,” she said.
Galyna let out a bitter chuckle at the too-familiar words. “Have we both chosen a fate?”
“I doubt you have; Duke Jarek will not harm a hair on your head nor, I suspect, will he allow anyone else to do so. Just don’t be surprised if you ride all that way to find he’s as helpful as a dry riverbed in a drought,” Lucyna said.
Before the guest could respond, her host added: “I appreciate a good conversation, but it’s getting terribly dark. Let’s find that horse and cart a good spot, and I’ll freshen up a space for you.”
Sample: Prologue
The Redemption of Jarek is written in a three-part structure. Each has its introduction, however brief. The first one the reader encounters is the prologue of the entire book. Its beginning occurs years prior to the main narrative during the protagonist’s youth, while the rest happens immediately prior to the first chapter.
To Jarek, this seems like another day of lessons. He can’t foresee how badly he will miss such days. He can’t possibly hear the conversation his father is about to have, nor is he meant to.
His father Sergiy is watching from the aptly named Duke’s Seat, a sturdy bench shaded by a plain and functional canopy. Whether the lesson at hand involves riding horses, the basics of fighting or something else, Jarek might correctly guess that Sergiy watches with pride.
Jarek never pays much mind to the tall and slight figure who occasionally sits with Sergiy. He feels no reason to; his father has many discussions with people whom Jarek isn’t yet allowed to know.
The boy might feel different if he knew they were about to discuss his future.
Duke Sergiy’s left hand rests on his voluminous trousers; the index finger of that hand lightly taps as his thoughts race. He ceases this tapping as he looks to his advisor and speaks.
“Should I marry again, Eckard?”
Eckard’s eyes narrow subtly, as if he knows how his next question will be answered, yet it’s incumbent upon him to ask. “You’ve waited indisputably longer than the requisite time for a widower to grieve; none would hold it against you, my Duke. Have recent events made you feel lonelier?”
Sergiy looks back at Jarek, who had fallen on his rear the moment Sergiy looked away. The instructor helps the boy up. It resembles a harmless learning experience, whatever it is.
“Because my reputation requires me to take risks which, however small, could rob the boy of me just like his cousin was robbed of Victor.”
Eckard’s suspicions prove true. It’s not much of a guess, given the recent tragedy. The boy’s cousin Lenn lost his father, Victor; Sergiy was responsible for bearing ill tidings. Jarek somehow managed to deliver the bad news before Sergiy had the chance.
“And his cousin, at least, has a mother’s dress to bury his face in and soak up the tears. Someone to nurture his pain and grieve with him,” Eckard offers.
Sergiy shoots him a glare. “Would Lenn be better off alone? You almost sound dismissive.”
As if feeling the heat of the glare, Eckard straightens his posture. Sergiy wonders how comfortable the emigrant from Kensrik can be in high waisted trousers of such tight fit, particularly during one of the warmest days of the year. Eckard’s shirt, at least, has the loose and flowing sleeves one more often encounters in the kingdom of Wancyrik; the embroidered floral pattern lining his hunter green vest would be unusual to see in Kensrik.
No rule, however, obligates Eckard to completely abandon the style of another king’s court, even if that other king is reviled. Everyone knows where he is from, and nobody questions his present loyalties. Eckard avoids eye contact in deference while responding; he knows his place.
“It’s perfect for him, my Duke. In fact, it’s better for us if Lenn has that kind of support. Lenn should be free to become the kind of nurturing, compassionate man who serves his province well while never daring to seek the throne for himself. Because the man truly fit for kingship must be made of steel if this land is to reach its truest glory.”
Sergiy closes his eyes, leans back, and exhales sharply with contempt. In the distance, he hears wood striking against wood, training weapons, his son’s fighting lesson. Everything he does belongs to his hopes for Jarek, yet Eckard always has such cold ideas of what’s healthy for the boy.
He opens his eyes, looking once again at his son. Sergiy understands how cold life’s most important lessons can be.
Then he remarks: “You’re a bastard, Eckard.”
Eckard raises his eyebrows. “I understand, my Duke. It seems to be a common sentiment around here regarding my people.”
Sergiy curtly shakes his head. “That’s patently false and a transparent misdirect. Kensrikans are people like anybody else in the world; their rulers, the Kenderleys, often behave like bastards. You, in particular, are a tremendous bastard. It’s a useful trait, given your role, but it’s also what I loathe about you.”
Eckard allows himself to smile, reassuring Sergiy of having read him perfectly.
“This is why you hired me, no? Because I remind you of people who win, the most dominant people in the world. All I wish is for your noble family to claim the glory unfairly hoarded by House Kenderley. We both know well enough that Jarek has the best chance to achieve this. He may not yet be a man, but you’ve successfully refrained from coddling him to death.”
He sees Sergiy relax a little and follows suit before he continues.
“If the worst were to happen, Jarek wouldn’t be alone. All your closest associates are warriors; strong men who provide an excellent example. Sure, marry again if you wish, but for the better reason of companionship.”
The duke curls the fingers of one hand into the palm of another and cracks a knuckle. He is not misdirected by further talk of companionship.
“But that’s what you hope to do, isn’t it? You wish to make my son just like you.”
Eckard dares look his duke in the eyes. “I will make him king of this land. But, as we have discussed, you must commit him to me. He can’t just run to you if he dislikes his lessons. He must be faced with no other choice but to become great. You can trust me with his life.”
Sergiy does not return the eye contact; not yet. He cracks another knuckle; now he seems to be staring at something much farther away than his boy.
“Like Victor trusted me with his own?” He asks.
Eckard frowns. “I believe it was Victor who insisted on placing himself in danger, some noble notion, as if he couldn’t ask his men to do exactly what he would expect of them under normal circumstances unless he too risked his life. I’ll take no silly risks with Jarek. And do you imagine any of my actions as a teacher could possibly be as dangerous as a battlefield?”
“Is my family not noble, Eckard? Were my cousin’s risks not compelled by such character?” Sergiy fires back while looking at him askance.
“If that were the case, one wonders what truly noble being ever survives long enough to take the throne—”
Sergiy cuts him off. “I have let you speak too freely. This noble notion that you’re mocking led Victor to save the Frontier wall, and everyone and everything it now protects. And he was the last member of this family whose actions earned my respect.”
Eckard looks down, clenching his jaw but listening obediently.
Sergiy feigns a smile for his gradually approaching son, but he quietly continues: “Never again malign Victor in my presence, nor within earshot of anyone who answers to me, or you’ll wish you only had to face a battlefield.”
“Yes, my Duke.”
Eckard knows how dangerous his statement was. He also knows that if he wishes to be trusted with Jarek’s life, Sergiy must be reassured of a fear that would keep Eckard in line. Sergiy knows the power of fear and wields it when he must. Eckard respects that about him. Eckard saw no such potential in Victor, nor would Victor have ever committed Lenn to him.
Once Jarek arrives, he is introduced to his new master.
For years after that, Jarek will consider this his worst day.
# # #
But this day, long after his father and Eckard have been laid on their respective funeral pyres; Duke Jarek knows of none in his life yet worse than this one.
Jarek’s forearms hardly feel spared by the leather bracers that adorn them, but the bruises from stopping blow after relentless blow are the least of his troubles. The middle of his gut carries a sore spot where he was kicked, but this was a lead leg kick; a quick stopper which rarely decides a fight. If only Jarek had not stepped into it.
He briefly feels more satisfied than hurt as he manages to land a counterblow. It’s nothing truly worth celebrating; it only further enrages his opponent, Duke Lenn.
Finally, Jarek gets close enough to grab his opponent’s arms and halts the exchange of punches, but this brief standing grapple only puts him within reach of heavy knee strikes. He abandons his grip on Lenn’s arms to guard against these attacks, for just one of them could fell him if landed cleanly; now all that spares Jarek from cracked ribs is the barrier he manages to form with bruised and tender arms.
He’s trapped for half a moment, which is half a moment too long; by the time he can break away, he’s sorrier for underestimating Lenn than he is for committing the crime which led to this fight. Brute force is a vague and unreliable teacher.
Once free, he staggers back from a final knee which loosely connects with his midsection. All those years of training find him yielding ground to someone he erringly viewed as soft. A stocky person like Lenn can be as difficult to push back as a sturdy wall, and Lenn is one furious wall.
But this wall walks, and legs can be tackled. Jarek makes the mistake of trying that. His punishment is to be struck in the head a few times before he can back away. His head aches badly enough that he misses the light hangover he took into this fight.
Jarek tries one more trick, distracting Lenn with words, but he will barely remember what was said once Lenn’s heavy hand crashes into the side of his jaw, rocking him to the ground. Tears fill his eyes, but not just because of the pain throughout his shuddering frame.
When he looks up at Lenn, he feels a terror he hasn’t known since childhood. For an instant, it’s not Lenn that he sees.
His tear-blurred vision sees Eckard.
Pathetic. Tears don’t place you on the throne, boy.
Failure will kill you.
You don’t look worthy.
Jarek has lost. He is left with no choice. He yields to Lenn’s terms.
But this is not to be the worst day in his life, nor the end of it.
January 15, 2023
The Redemption of Jarek
Announcing the latest release which ends the extended series, The Redemption of Jarek. This book went live on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo on December 15, 2022.
You can follow this link to a selection of ebook and paperback retailers which carry this title.
[image error]The Redemption of Jarek is told in a three-part structure. Each part features a prologue written in present tense, while the book concludes with a similarly written epilogue. Here’s how it all begins.
Prologue
To Jarek, this seems like another day of lessons. He can’t foresee how badly he will miss such days. He can’t possibly hear the conversation his father is about to have, nor is he meant to.
His father Sergiy is watching from the aptly named Duke’s Seat, a sturdy bench shaded by a plain and functional canopy. Whether the lesson at hand involves riding horses, the basics of fighting or something else, Jarek might correctly guess that Sergiy watches with pride.
Jarek never pays much mind to the tall and slight figure who occasionally sits with Sergiy. He feels no reason to; his father has many discussions with people whom Jarek isn’t yet allowed to know.
The boy might feel different if he knew they were about to discuss his future.
Duke Sergiy’s left hand rests on his voluminous trousers; the index finger of that hand lightly taps as his thoughts race. He ceases this tapping as he looks to his advisor and speaks.
“Should I marry again, Eckard?”
Eckard’s eyes narrow subtly, as if he knows how his next question will be answered, yet it’s incumbent upon him to ask. “You’ve waited indisputably longer than the requisite time for a widower to grieve; none would hold it against you, my Duke. Have recent events made you feel lonelier?”
Sergiy looks back at Jarek, who had fallen on his rear the moment Sergiy looked away. The instructor helps the boy up. It resembles a harmless learning experience, whatever it is.
“Because my reputation requires me to take risks which, however small, could rob the boy of me just like his cousin was robbed of Victor.”
Eckard’s suspicions prove true. It’s not much of a guess, given the recent tragedy. The boy’s cousin Lenn lost his father, Victor; Sergiy was responsible for bearing ill tidings. Jarek somehow managed to deliver the bad news before Sergiy had the chance.
“And his cousin, at least, has a mother’s dress to bury his face in and soak up the tears. Someone to nurture his pain and grieve with him,” Eckard offers.
Sergiy shoots him a glare. “Would Lenn be better off alone? You almost sound dismissive.”
As if feeling the heat of the glare, Eckard straightens his posture. Sergiy wonders how comfortable the emigrant from Kensrik can be in high waisted trousers of such tight fit, particularly during one of the warmest days of the year. Eckard’s shirt, at least, has the loose and flowing sleeves one more often encounters in the kingdom of Wancyrik; the embroidered floral pattern lining his hunter green vest would be unusual to see in Kensrik.
No rule, however, obligates Eckard to completely abandon the style of another king’s court, even if that other king is reviled. Everyone knows where he is from, and nobody questions his present loyalties. Eckard avoids eye contact in deference while responding; he knows his place.
“It’s perfect for him, my Duke. In fact, it’s better for us if Lenn has that kind of support. Lenn should be free to become the kind of nurturing, compassionate man who serves his province well while never daring to seek the throne for himself. Because the man truly fit for kingship must be made of steel if this land is to reach its truest glory.”
Sergiy closes his eyes, leans back, and exhales sharply with contempt. In the distance, he hears wood striking against wood, training weapons, his son’s fighting lesson. Everything he does belongs to his hopes for Jarek, yet Eckard always has such cold ideas of what’s healthy for the boy.
He opens his eyes, looking once again at his son. Sergiy understands how cold life’s most important lessons can be.
Then he remarks: “You’re a bastard, Eckard.”
Eckard raises his eyebrows. “I understand, my Duke. It seems to be a common sentiment around here regarding my people.”
Sergiy curtly shakes his head. “That’s patently false and a transparent misdirect. Kensrikans are people like anybody else in the world; their rulers, the Kenderleys, often behave like bastards. You, in particular, are a tremendous bastard. It’s a useful trait, given your role, but it’s also what I loathe about you.”
Eckard allows himself to smile, reassuring Sergiy of having read him perfectly.
“This is why you hired me, no? Because I remind you of people who win, the most dominant people in the world. All I wish is for your noble family to claim the glory unfairly hoarded by House Kenderley. We both know well enough that Jarek has the best chance to achieve this. He may not yet be a man, but you’ve successfully refrained from coddling him to death.”
He sees Sergiy relax a little and follows suit before he continues.
“If the worst were to happen, Jarek wouldn’t be alone. All your closest associates are warriors; strong men who provide an excellent example. Sure, marry again if you wish, but for the better reason of companionship.”
The duke curls the fingers of one hand into the palm of another and cracks a knuckle. He is not misdirected by further talk of companionship.
“But that’s what you hope to do, isn’t it? You wish to make my son just like you.”
Eckard dares look his duke in the eyes. “I will make him king of this land. But, as we have discussed, you must commit him to me. He can’t just run to you if he dislikes his lessons. He must be faced with no other choice but to become great. You can trust me with his life.”
Sergiy does not return the eye contact; not yet. He cracks another knuckle; now he seems to be staring at something much farther away than his boy.
“Like Victor trusted me with his own?” He asks.
Eckard frowns. “I believe it was Victor who insisted on placing himself in danger, some noble notion, as if he couldn’t ask his men to do exactly what he would expect of them under normal circumstances unless he too risked his life. I’ll take no silly risks with Jarek. And do you imagine any of my actions as a teacher could possibly be as dangerous as a battlefield?”
“Is my family not noble, Eckard? Were my cousin’s risks not compelled by such character?” Sergiy fires back while looking at him askance.
“If that were the case, one wonders what truly noble being ever survives long enough to take the throne—”
Sergiy cuts him off. “I have let you speak too freely. This noble notion that you’re mocking led Victor to save the Frontier wall, and everyone and everything it now protects. And he was the last member of this family whose actions earned my respect.”
Eckard looks down, clenching his jaw but listening obediently.
Sergiy feigns a smile for his gradually approaching son, but he quietly continues: “Never again malign Victor in my presence, nor within earshot of anyone who answers to me, or you’ll wish you only had to face a battlefield.”
“Yes, my Duke.”
Eckard knows how dangerous his statement was. He also knows that if he wishes to be trusted with Jarek’s life, Sergiy must be reassured of a fear that would keep Eckard in line. Sergiy knows the power of fear and wields it when he must. Eckard respects that about him. Eckard saw no such potential in Victor, nor would Victor have ever committed Lenn to him.
Once Jarek arrives, he is introduced to his new master.
For years after that, Jarek will consider this his worst day.
# # #
But this day, long after his father and Eckard have been laid on their respective funeral pyres; Duke Jarek knows of none in his life yet worse than this one.
Jarek’s forearms hardly feel spared by the leather bracers that adorn them, but the bruises from stopping blow after relentless blow are the least of his troubles. The middle of his gut carries a sore spot where he was kicked, but this was a lead leg kick; a quick stopper which rarely decides a fight. If only Jarek had not stepped into it.
He briefly feels more satisfied than hurt as he manages to land a counterblow. It’s nothing truly worth celebrating; it only further enrages his opponent, Duke Lenn.
Finally, Jarek gets close enough to grab his opponent’s arms and halts the exchange of punches, but this brief standing grapple only puts him within reach of heavy knee strikes. He abandons his grip on Lenn’s arms to guard against these attacks, for just one of them could fell him if landed cleanly; now all that spares Jarek from cracked ribs is the barrier he manages to form with bruised and tender arms.
He’s trapped for half a moment, which is half a moment too long; by the time he can break away, he’s sorrier for underestimating Lenn than he is for committing the crime which led to this fight. Brute force is a vague and unreliable teacher.
Once free, he staggers back from a final knee which loosely connects with his midsection. All those years of training find him yielding ground to someone he erringly viewed as soft. A stocky person like Lenn can be as difficult to push back as a sturdy wall, and Lenn is one furious wall.
But this wall walks, and legs can be tackled. Jarek makes the mistake of trying that. His punishment is to be struck in the head a few times before he can back away. His head aches badly enough that he misses the light hangover he took into this fight.
Jarek tries one more trick, distracting Lenn with words, but he will barely remember what was said once Lenn’s heavy hand crashes into the side of his jaw, rocking him to the ground. Tears fill his eyes, but not just because of the pain throughout his shuddering frame.
When he looks up at Lenn, he feels a terror he hasn’t known since childhood. For an instant, it’s not Lenn that he sees.
His tear-blurred vision sees Eckard.
Pathetic. Tears don’t place you on the throne, boy.
Failure will kill you.
You don’t look worthy.
Jarek has lost. He is left with no choice. He yields to Lenn’s terms.
But this is not to be the worst day in his life, nor the end of it.
September 19, 2021
Cover and Title Reveal: The Fate of Lenn
The Fate of Lenn by Dylan Madeley
Cover art by Jenn St-Onge
“Like a book already written, turn a page forward or back, read a line or a page, yet all the words in that book exist at once, unchanging; is this how you see it? Like fate? Do we fall no matter what I do?”
Future generations will mythologize Duke Lenn Wancyek, but he is a person like any other. He feels hope, worry, loss, pain, and the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. When his responsibilities place him in a catastrophic situation from which he may not escape, his values will resonate through his actions more thoroughly than any speech he could ever make.
You will meet everyone who looks to him and you will see their struggles which run concurrent with his: a friend and adviser who wishes to steer him right; three musicians who think they have landed the greatest job in the kingdom; a gardener who does so much yet asks so little; a woman who works to free her people. The list goes on, but time grows short.
You will meet the man who becomes the legend. You will know the fate of Lenn.
Purchase The Fate of Lenn for Kindle
Paperback and Barnes and Noble editions in progress
April 19, 2021
Cover and Title reveal: Prince Ewald the Brave
“No, father. You have gotten your way for too long. This ends here.”
Meet the Kenderleys, the wealthiest and most powerful family in the world.
The youngest, Prince Bonifaz, takes his lessons and trusts no one. The middle child, Princess Isabel, sneaks away to a secret regency of her own making. Their mother, Queen Dulcibella, watches out for her children just as readily as she watches over them. Their father, King Jonnecht, is a capricious tyrant who hopes to control his family as strictly as he does the largest empire, and his violent rage threatens all under his rule.
Then there’s Prince Ewald, eldest and heir to the throne. No one is more aware of the threat his father poses to everyone. No one has better legal standing to do anything about it. How can he save everyone he loves while upholding his mother’s kind values? He must learn the lessons required to be the best regent, choose allies wisely and earn their trust, and enact a thoughtful and detailed plan.
And even if he succeeds in all that, can one who draws the line and conducts a plan with honour defeat one whose rage, selfishness, and deceit know no bounds?
Can Prince Ewald stop his own father?
Out for Kindle May 1, 2021Prince Ewald the Brave can be preordered for Kindle. Paperback options to follow!
