Blog Archives
Motivated by Revenge
The First Law Is Survival centers around a young officer raised in an orphanage whose skills in engineering and strategy repeatedly place him in dangerous situations where only his ingenuity can turn the odds in his favor. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
My first inspiration was the opening passage (which actually occurs midway through the book). A general sitting in his tent contemplating the failures of all his plans, with his new wife clutching a knife as she lies with her back to him in her bed. Everything progressed from there: how did the general find himself at this point, what is the looming threat that the general must overcome, and just what kind of world the characters are operating in.
How did you decide which historical elements to preserve and which to reinvent?
I really wanted to avoid “world-building”. I really hate that phrase. Placing the characters in a facsimile of the ancient Roman Empire was my solution. The attitude of the rulers (have army, will conquer), class systems (I did jettison the slave trope), layout of the capital, loyalty to tribe, references to ancient religions, and the effectiveness of the Legions are already built in for the reader. After that, I just had fun jumbling up history (and adding witches and wizards – not to mention flying females). A student of ancient history will recognize the final two major battles in the book immediately. I also lifted the one speech Marcus gives to his troops from one of them. Even some of the names are stolen from history. The General of the Grand Army and Tertius’ wife, for example.
The most important element I wanted to preserve was people’s attitudes. They do not think like us: no one is shocked when a younger son starts removing his competition, Legionnaires do not suffer PTSD, and Marcus may not agree with his orders, but he doesn’t hesitate in carrying them out. There is only a single character who ever wonders if she is losing her moral compass.
Did Marcus’s character or role in the story change from your original conception as you wrote the novel?
Marcus’s character and role remained consistent throughout. A young man burdened by responsibilities he never sought and promises he means to keep. It did surprise me that revenge is a prime motivation for Marcus by the end of the novel. Actually, many of my protagonists turned out to be motivated by revenge. Not sure what that says about the author.
The epilogue suggests that the trouble isn’t necessarily over. How much of the larger world and its future did you have planned while writing this book?
While writing, I had almost nothing planned out besides leaving unfinished business between some characters. Unfortunately, as of today, I do have most of the second book mapped out. I will need to start writing soon. This time around, I might even describe an Anemoi’s wings.
Author Links: GoodReads | Website | Amazon
In the aftermath of a Barbarian invasion that had only been defeated at the walls of the Capital, the Empire benevolently establish an orphanage for boys – an orphanage run by the Legions. Marcus d ’Ostia is aging out and is signing up as a military engineer. He believes this is the best path to realize his ambition of becoming a master architect. His oldest friend, Septimus, thinks his brilliant friend is making the biggest mistake of his life (Septimus is not wrong). Septimus is signing up with a criminal syndicate (no one thinks he is making a mistake). The third friend, Timolen, is giving nothing away as he plots vengeance.
Our young Triumvirate belong to a cruel and dangerous world. A world where the powerful strive for glory: the most privileged girl in the Empire struggles to escape her gilded cage and achieve real power, the third son of the Emperor plots to move up in the ranking, and a Barbarian Witch initiates her plans of conquest.
The common people have a more practical outlook and live by their first law – survival. The boys from the orphanage have added a few of their own laws – laws that will have unintended consequences for the Empire.
The First Law Is Survival (We Have a Few More)
Magnus Baikie’s The First Law Is Survival (We Have a Few More) is a sprawling historical fantasy novel that drops Roman-inspired military culture, Celtic kingdoms, Huns, dwarves, winged Anemoi, witches, assassins, and powerful wizards into one deliberately remixed ancient world. Baikie openly embraces the historical liberties, using the familiar framework to get straight to the people, politics, battles, and schemes. At the center is Marcus d’ Ostia, an orphanage-trained young officer whose talent for engineering and strategy keeps putting him in situations where the odds are terrible and somebody has to come up with a plan. Around him grows a large cast whose loyalties, promises, rivalries, and friendships eventually connect military campaigns, Imperial succession, organized crime, assassination, and the return of the Hun threat.
What gives this historical fantasy its personality is the rotating first-person narration. Baikie moves among soldiers, criminals, royalty, dwarves, Anemoi, Celts, Magyars, Huns, and others, sometimes changing narrators inside a chapter, so major events are often seen from several very different angles. That structure turns what could have been a straightforward military adventure into something much more character-driven, which was also the author’s stated intention. Marcus’s dry practicality plays especially well against Septimus’s criminal charm, Timolen’s unsettling competence, Mistral’s temper and loyalty, and the ruthless ambition of Krekka. The humor comes naturally from those personalities. Even when armies are being destroyed or someone is plotting a murder, there’s usually a sarcastic observation, an argument over rank, or a character quietly realizing that another supposedly brilliant plan is probably going to get everyone killed.
The novel is also very much military historical fantasy, with sieges, battlefield tactics, Legion politics, engineering, logistics, magic, and command decisions forming a huge part of the story. Fort Edge establishes that approach early, but the scale keeps increasing through the Celtic campaign, the struggle over the Imperial succession, the siege of Ynys, and the Hun invasion. By the later chapters, political intrigue and warfare are tightly intertwined, so victories on the battlefield matter just as much as what happens in the Senate, the Palace, or the back streets of Subura. The book’s strongest recurring idea is contained in those COB Laws introduced near the beginning: survival matters, but so do loyalty, family, promises, and protecting the people you’ve decided are yours. Those rules start as the rough code of abandoned boys and gradually become a moral framework for decisions that affect an entire empire.
The First Law Is Survival (We Have a Few More) has the scope of epic historical fantasy, but its voice stays informal and quick on its feet. Baikie favors conversation, tactical problem-solving, and character interaction over long scenic description, so the story keeps moving even as the cast and stakes expand. The ending pays off relationships and promises that have been developing since the early chapters, while the epilogue keeps the book’s mischievous streak alive and suggests that power, ambition, and trouble will continue in this world. Readers who enjoy historical fantasy novels with large casts, Roman-style Legions, military strategy, political maneuvering, magic, dark humor, and found-family bonds will find plenty to dig into here. It’s an ambitious, energetic story that treats empires and wars seriously while still letting its characters be funny, stubborn, dangerous, affectionate, and wonderfully human.
Pages: 474 | ASIN : B0HB5XT2VL
Strangers From the South
Strangers From the South by Forest Woodes is an ambitious prehistoric fantasy novel set in 31,000 BCE, when glaciers are advancing, mammoths still roam, and magic remains woven into the natural world. The story begins with Ashwyn, a wandering elf who discovers Lukos, a human boy hiding near the remains of his slaughtered village. Their meeting grows into a moving father-and-son relationship, but it also draws Ashwyn back toward his royal family, an ancient war, and responsibilities he’s spent years avoiding. What starts as an intimate survival story gradually expands into an epic fantasy journey across a vividly reimagined Ice Age world.
The novel’s greatest strength is its worldbuilding. Woodes combines Pleistocene ecology, reconstructed Proto-Indo-European mythology, and elements of historical fantasy to create a setting that feels ancient, dangerous, and surprisingly tangible. Sacred trees stretch across entire landscapes, gods walk among mortals, revenants hide behind beautiful faces, and cultures are shaped by their relationships with animals, weather, migration, and death. The book travels across a huge geography, yet the attention to forests, grasslands, glaciers, rivers, wildlife, food, and material culture keeps that scale grounded. It reads like mythic fantasy told by people who experience magic as part of everyday reality.
Ashwyn gives the story its emotional center. He’s funny, weary, capable, and deeply uncomfortable with the harm he can cause, especially when he becomes the leader of a human army. His struggle isn’t simply about defeating an enemy. It’s about recognizing the patterns that keep violence alive and deciding whether he’ll repeat them. Lukos, Sandya, Tamir, Altan, Yama, Ana, and Thunder give the sprawling narrative warmth and personality, while the dialogue keeps the book conversational even when the characters are discussing gods, prophecy, sacrifice, and the end of an age. The relationships matter because the novel treats family as something created through promises, shared hardship, forgiveness, and the choice to remain present.
As a work of epic prehistoric fantasy, Strangers From the South is rich, immersive, and packed with ideas. Its three-part structure carries the reader from a ruined highland village to wars in the west, cities between rivers, the mammoth steppe, tropical jungles, and the sacred lands surrounding the Sindhu River. Beneath that scale is a thoughtful story about grief, cultural memory, cycles of violence, and humanity’s emergence into a changing world. The ending brings its mythology, ecology, and character arcs together in a conclusion that feels both mournful and hopeful, closing one age while showing how its stories survive in the next.
Pages: 364 | ASIN : B0H237L5F4
Fall of the House of Taga
M. K. Aleja’s Fall of the House of Taga is a CHamoru historical fantasy and mythic retelling that brings several fragmented legends together as one sweeping tragedy. Set across Guam, Rota, and Tinian, the story follows Taga from an ambitious chief’s son into exile, redemption, leadership, and eventual ruin. Aleja grounds the novel in CHamoru language, spiritual traditions, community values, and the enduring presence of the latte stones, giving this Indigenous folklore fantasy a strong cultural identity from its opening pages.
At the center of the book is Taga’s complicated relationship with shame. His youthful pride opens the door to I Guaifi’nao, a supernatural entity that feeds patiently on isolation, fear, and unresolved pain. Taga’s years in Tinian offer real healing as he learns to serve others, builds a family with the capable and perceptive Liho, and earns his place as maga’låhi. That long path makes the later tragedy hit harder because readers see exactly what he’s built, how much he loves it, and why its destruction matters. As a dark fantasy family saga, the novel treats redemption as something created through daily choices.
The book’s second half moves firmly into supernatural horror, with sleeplessness, whispers, hallucinations, and changes in Taga’s behavior building toward a brutal, emotionally intense climax. The short chapters and direct prose keep the story moving quickly, though some lessons and emotional ideas are repeated often enough that their impact occasionally softens. Even so, the clearest moments are powerful, especially those involving Samai, who becomes more than a witness to her family’s fall. Her compassion and determination transform the ending from pure devastation into an account of survival, truth-telling, and cultural memory.
What gives Fall of the House of Taga its lasting weight is its portrayal of storytelling itself. Aleja presents oral tradition as a living safeguard, then shows how colonial interpretation can separate connected histories, dismiss spiritual knowledge, and turn a complex tragedy into a simpler tale of jealousy and violence. That makes this historical fantasy novel and colonial folklore retelling feel both intimate and purposeful. It’s a fast, sorrowful read about a man haunted by an old wound, a family caught in its consequences, and a daughter who makes sure the stone’s true story is remembered.
Pages: 275 | ASIN : B0HD2WYX4R
The Throne of Deep Roots: Book 2 of The Command of the Worldhold Series
The Throne of Deep Roots, the second book in Morven T. H. Borthwick’s The Command of the Worldhold series, is a sweeping work of dark epic fantasy built around ancient powers, political betrayal, war, and the consequences of choices made under pressure. The story begins in the shadow of a supernatural disaster, when the Black Sea rose as though answering an unseen will. From there, the novel follows several connected conflicts involving Eron, Belor, Seth, Elia, and the rulers of Dovaryel and Yorthmere. At the center of everything is The Command, a tiny stone with the power to make the sea obey, whose awakening attracts forces far older and more dangerous than the people carrying it fully understand.
One of the book’s strongest qualities is the depth of its world. Dovaryel, Dravarûyn, the Kor lands, and the southern mountains each have their own histories, customs, political tensions, and supernatural traditions. Borthwick doesn’t treat the setting as decoration. The world’s old wars and buried grudges actively shape what the characters believe and how they respond to one another. Titles such as Boundhand, Rootmaker, Vowblade, and Orathë also carry real social and spiritual weight. This gives the story the feeling of a history that began long before the first page. The formal, almost legendary prose suits that approach, especially in scenes involving prophecy, ritual, and ancient beings.
The characters are most compelling when they’re forced to decide what responsibility means. Belor’s Binding Art makes him powerful, but his real strength comes from his understanding that guilt can extend beyond the person who performs an act. His warning that “The blood of the fallen does not name the hand alone, but the will that sent it” captures one of the novel’s central concerns. Commands, bargains, and political decisions leave marks on everyone involved. Seth’s escape from execution, her discovery that she’s carrying Sathor’s son, and her refusal to return to the people who condemned her give her storyline a sharp emotional edge. Elia’s struggle to lead while dealing with fear, pride, and the limits of her gift makes her feel human even when the events around her reach a mythic scale.
The novel’s pacing is deliberate and immersive. Conversations, councils, journeys, and preparations for war receive nearly as much attention as battles, allowing tension to build gradually across the book. When violence arrives, particularly around the Field of Dravarûyn, it feels like the result of decisions that have been accumulating for hundreds of pages. The large cast and extensive terminology ask the reader to pay close attention, but the appendix provides useful support for navigating the Worldhold. The descriptions are often rich and solemn, creating an atmosphere in which forests, rain, stone chambers, and mountain caves seem to remember the events that happened within them.
By the end, The Throne of Deep Roots has expanded from a struggle among rulers into a confrontation with powers that reach back into the foundations of the world. Eron’s bond with The Command, the pursuit of the Thavurwyns, and the revelations beside the Deep Mirror all point toward a threat larger than the characters first imagined. Belor’s observation that “The ancient powers, once awakened, are not easily returned to sleep” works as both a warning and a summary of the book’s direction. This is a substantial, lore-heavy fantasy novel for readers who enjoy layered histories, morally complicated alliances, supernatural dread, and stories in which every victory creates a new burden. Its ending closes the immediate journey while leaving a chilling question hanging over the series: whether Vaelthar’s prison is beginning to fail.
Pages: 402 | ASIN: B0H45RJZR7
Supernatural Gift
The Skull of Wenceslas follows a gifted New York medieval literature scholar who visits Prague for an academic project that takes a dangerous and paranormal turn. What draws you to the historical fantasy genre?
In Prague, the history is always present, especially to an American (and in my case, Australian-born). The Charles Bridge alone, with its cobblestones and ancient towers, never lets you forget it. Every Czech child knows the legend of the founding of the city, when the Slavic princess Libuše looked out over the river valley and made her prediction that she saw “a great city whose glory would touch the stars.” It’s almost impossible to write a story about Prague and not include the history!
What made you want to give Kat both an academic mind and a supernatural gift?
I have some of Kat’s interests myself – languages and ancient manuscripts in particular. I’ve always been intrigued by the skills of calligraphy and illumination (lots of books about it on my bookshelf). The story started with bringing Bruncvik to life, and Kat’s supernatural gift was a way to explain it. It grew from there, with the idea that she could step back in time into the mind of someone in the past and see the world through their eyes.
Many of the ghosts in the novel feel like characters with their own motivations rather than simple supernatural threats. How did you develop their personalities and roles in the story?
Their stories just grew. A line from the Oprah show always stuck in my mind. “Everyone has a story.” If we could communicate with someone in the past, what could they tell us? Turned out, quite a lot! But like everything else, they don’t tell you their story in neat chronological order; they tell you what is important to them. Which lends itself to a tale of mystery.
If readers finish The Skull of Wenceslas wanting to visit Prague, what are a few places from the novel that you would encourage them to see first?
A lot depends on how much time they can spend there. Too often, it’s “three days in Prague,” which mostly limits you to what the guides call “the Castle, bridge and clock tour.” Starting at the castle and the St. Vit Cathedral, crossing the Charles Bridge, and following the crowd along the King’s Way to Old Town Square and the Astronomical Clock. You’ll want to see all of those, but I have my own favorites. I love to start at the Strahov Monastery, which is Kat’s first stop. The restaurant with the view, where she meets Mike, is gone now, but there are plenty of others. If you climb the stairs to the Library (it’s magnificent), you’ll also see the weird little museum, full of odd sea creatures (remember, the Czech Republic is land-bound, so these must have seemed exotic). There is also a Museum of Miniatures, which is fascinating – everything is viewed through microscopes. From the monastery, you can walk down to the castle. My other favorite place in Prague is the Letná Beer Garden, where you can sit under the chestnut trees and gaze at an amazing view.
Author Links: GoodReads | Facebook | Website | Substack | Amazon
Kat Schneider, a New Yorker and medieval literature scholar, arrives in Prague to translate a centuries-old manuscript. The first night, she sees the ghosts of a knight and a lion patrolling the ancient tower outside her window.
In Prague, her hidden gift of Sight pulls her into a world where history is alive, and the past collides with the present. On the Charles Bridge, Kat inadvertently summons a fourteenth-century prince into the modern world, forcing her to navigate a realm where the supernatural and human desires intertwine. With a mysterious local man and her charismatic client, she uncovers hidden truths, explores new powers, and discovers that love and loyalty are never straightforward.
Yet danger looms: a vengeful outsider plots to devastate the city on St. Wenceslas Day. To protect her friends, the city of Prague and even the Czech nation, Kat must embrace the Sight she has long hidden—and confront betrayal, ancient magic, and the haunting shadows of history.
The Skull of Wenceslas
The Skull of Wenceslas, by Marion Deland, is a paranormal mystery with a strong historical fantasy thread, set in a Prague that feels both lived-in and haunted. The story follows Kat Schneider, a New York medieval literature scholar with the Sight, as she comes to Prague to help translate an old manuscript tied to the legendary Prince Bruncvík. What begins as an academic project soon turns into something stranger and more dangerous, involving ghosts, Czech legends, a possible terrorist threat, and Kat’s growing sense that the city’s past is not finished speaking.
What I enjoyed most was how grounded Kat feels, even when the story steps into the supernatural. She’s smart, funny, guarded, and sometimes too quick to trust her own logic, which made her feel believable to me. I liked that Deland lets Prague do more than sit in the background. The city becomes part of the book’s pulse, with its bridges, statues, trams, old stones, and layered history all pressing in on Kat’s choices. The paranormal elements work best when they feel tied to place, and here they do. Bruncvík and his lion are not just spooky figures. They feel like part of a city still carrying its myths in the cracks of the pavement.
I also appreciated the author’s choice to let the book be messy in relatable ways. Kat’s relationships with Freddie, Mike, Queenie, Susie, and even the ghosts are not simple. People misunderstand each other. They get defensive. They bring old fears into new situations. That gave the story more weight than a straight adventure would have had. The plot takes its time getting where it is going, especially when Kat is absorbing the culture and history around her, but I didn’t mind that much. The slower moments help build the feeling that Prague is opening itself to her one street, one legend, and one uneasy revelation at a time.
I recommend The Skull of Wenceslas to readers who enjoy paranormal mysteries that lean into history, atmosphere, and character more than nonstop action. It should especially appeal to anyone drawn to haunted cities, old manuscripts, folklore, and stories where the past keeps reaching into the present. If you like your supernatural fiction with a thoughtful narrator, a touch of romance, and a deep sense of place, this book is easy to settle into.
Pages: 332 | ASIN : B0H26T1RLZ
Mariella
Mariella, by Jonathan Kind, is a Gothic novel set in late Georgian Britain, following Mariella Vangard after a violent supernatural attack leaves her family ruined, orphaned, and dependent on reluctant relatives. What begins as a story of sisters trying to survive poverty and scandal soon widens into a darker tale of vampires, ambition, marriage, betrayal, and moral decay. At the center is Mariella herself, a woman who is not simply haunted by evil but increasingly drawn toward it.
I liked how patiently the book lets its darkness gather. Kind leans into the pleasures of the Gothic genre: ruined churches, moonlit roads, locked rooms, family secrets, and danger that feels both physical and emotional. The atmosphere is rich without becoming too heavy, and the historical setting gives the horror a sharper edge. These characters live in a world where women have few good choices, where reputation can be a prison, and where money is often as frightening as any monster. That makes Mariella’s choices more interesting, even when I found myself recoiling from them.
I also appreciated that Mariella isn’t softened too much for the reader. She can be clever, wounded, practical, selfish, and chilling, sometimes all within the same stretch of story. That makes her difficult company, but never dull company. The novel is candid about hunger, not just for blood, but for security, status, control, and escape. The plot moves with the sweep of a melodrama, full of reversals and heightened emotion, but it feels right for a Gothic novel. It has that candlelit sense that every desire has a cost, and sooner or later the bill will be brought to the door.
I recommend Mariella to readers who enjoy Gothic fiction with strong historical texture, morally complicated women, family drama, and vampire horror that is more seductive and tragic than purely gruesome. It’s not a cozy read, and it doesn’t offer an easy heroine to cheer for. But for readers who like their Gothic novels stormy, strange, and emotionally tangled, this one has a strong pull.
Pages: 328 | ASIN : B0FKYDCHDS
