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The Brothers of Dane
D.B. Havoc’s The Brothers of Dane begins as a tale of mischief and theft, but it quickly expands into something much grander. On the surface, the novel follows Balran, Mak, and Dag, three notorious outlaws whose exploits make them both feared and strangely admired. What starts as a high-society robbery soon spirals into a quest tied to ancient artifacts, the legendary city of Dhravendor, and the fabled Udin Stone. Beneath the adventurous exterior lies a narrative about loyalty, betrayal, and the often-fractured bonds that hold families, chosen or otherwise, together.
The opening scene at Counselor Imara Enas’s estate establishes this duality immediately. The cultivated elegance of an elven dinner party collides with the chaos of the Brothers’ sudden intrusion, led by Balran’s dryly menacing declaration: “This is a robbery.” The episode is both dramatic and darkly humorous, and it illustrates Havoc’s ability to balance tones with confidence. The moment also introduces Maeve, whose tense but charged interaction with Mak provides an early glimpse of the interpersonal conflicts that run beneath the novel’s more visible plot.
The novel’s strongest element is the interplay between the brothers themselves. Their dialogue is sharp, unpolished, and filled with an authenticity that makes their quarrels and camaraderie equally compelling. Dag, for instance, provides a mix of cynicism and biting humor, as when he mocks Mak’s affection for Maeve through his song “Sweet Maeveriene”. Balran assumes the role of pragmatic leader, while Mak wrestles with the tensions of his half-elven identity. Together, they form a partnership that feels volatile but indispensable, and it is this sense of lived-in brotherhood that makes the narrative resonate beyond its adventurous trappings.
The scope of the story broadens dramatically with the introduction of Emperor Elric Veshlor, the so-called Sun Eagle. The confrontation in the Tower of Tiriel, particularly the battle with a shadowed figure whose blows are revealed to fall from a wooden blade, is a pivotal moment. Elric’s eventual appearance transforms the narrative from one of petty thefts into an epic struggle intertwined with exile, history, and the hope of redemption. The Brothers’ shifting responses, debating whether to assist, betray, or outwit the emperor, add moral complexity and highlight Havoc’s interest in the gray spaces between honor and survival.
By its conclusion, The Brothers of Dane reveals itself as more than an adventure tale. Havoc blends action with myth, allowing the reader to move seamlessly from tavern brawls to weighty reflections on power, freedom, and legacy. At times, the exposition particularly in the sections concerning the Treaty of Maltran Heights and the dwarven astrolabe leans heavily on lore. Yet even these passages contribute to the sense that the Brothers are entangled in a world where their small-scale ambitions intersect with forces far greater than themselves.
The Brothers of Dane is recommended for readers who appreciate fantasy that is bold, atmospheric, and character-driven. It will appeal especially to those who enjoyed the grit of Scott Lynch’s The Lies of Locke Lamora or Christopher Buehlman’s The Blacktongue Thief. Havoc has crafted a story that captures both the recklessness of outlaw life and the enduring weight of myth, producing a work that is as much about the bonds of brotherhood as it is about treasure and survival.
Pages: 302 | ASIN : B0DPR7YM66
Inescapable (The Immortal Blood Gift Series)
Marina Rehm’s Inescapable is the eerie, emotional slow-burn opener to the Immortal Blood Gift series, blending small-town angst with something far more ancient and chilling. Set in the snowy, forgotten corners of Berlin, New Hampshire, in 1985, it follows Dylan Harper, a high school senior who’s just trying to survive his bullies, get into Harvard, and take care of his single mom. But when a mysterious woman named Marie and her icy-eyed husband Alec arrive, the sleepy town suddenly becomes the backdrop to a series of violent, unexplainable deaths, and Dylan is pulled into something bigger than himself. It’s part coming-of-age, part supernatural thriller, all wrapped in a rich layer of dread.
What stood out to me immediately about this book was how convincingly Rehm captures Dylan’s character. He is awkward, uncertain, often overwhelmed, and acutely aware of his low standing in the social hierarchy. Rehm presents him with unflinching honesty, avoiding sentimentality and allowing the narrative to unfold at a deliberate, effective pace. The early chapters, especially those set in the gas station, drip with the bleakness of small-town inertia. When Dylan encounters Marie, a woman whose beauty and poise seem almost unreal, it briefly disrupts his sense of monotony. Her presence is described with such vivid detail, particularly the image of her leather-gloved hands and effortless self-possession, that she feels both mesmerizing and dangerous. A moment in which she assists Dylan in cleaning up a spilled slushie feels disarmingly intimate, yet beneath that quiet interaction lies a deeper threat. It’s this layered ambiguity that immediately drew me in.
The writing itself surprised me. It’s sharp but accessible, with enough emotion to pull you in without ever getting overly dramatic. I appreciated how Rehm balanced horror with heartbreak. Take the murder of Stacy Yelander, for example. That discovery scene was utterly haunting. Dylan stumbling across her mangled body in the snow, those glowing eyes in the woods gave me goosebumps. And yet, the real gut punch wasn’t just the horror, it was Dylan’s numb reaction. His fear. His powerlessness. It’s not just about monsters in the dark; it’s about being trapped in a life you didn’t choose, where the world doesn’t care if you survive it.
What kept me turning the pages was the strange push-pull between Marie’s charm and Alec’s terrifying silence. Something about them is clearly not human, but Rehm never lays it all out. She lets the dread grow like frost on a window. Alec says maybe three words, but you feel him in every room. The slow pace gave me time to settle into the tension, to care about Dylan, and to dread whatever was coming. And there’s something refreshing about a supernatural story where the creatures don’t sparkle or monologue, they just stalk, manipulate, and kill.
Inescapable is a cold, quiet scream of a book. If you’ve ever been the outsider, the weird kid, the one who just wanted to get out of your dead-end town, this will hit home. It’s for readers who like their horror with heart, who don’t mind a slow build, and who enjoy being unnerved by people who are just a little too perfect. This is not a book for those needing instant gratification, but if you like stories that simmer before they burn, this one’s worth it.
Pages : 361 | ASIN : B0DPJ6F7TF
Valenfaar: The Children’s Song
James McLean’s Valenfaar: The Children’s Song is a dark, gripping fantasy novel that plunges readers into a world on the brink of collapse. Set in the same timeline as The Crimson Plains but on the opposite side of the country, this second installment in The Fall of Valenfaar series follows the desperate struggle against the ominous force known as the Children. As war looms, characters battle not only external foes but also the demons within their own minds. From the ominous first scene of a burning orphanage to the eerie climax where the Children’s influence takes full hold, the book weaves a chilling tale of survival, duty, and moral decay.
The writing is vivid, sometimes brutally so, and McLean doesn’t shy away from the horrors of war. Scenes like the feast before battle, where soldiers drink and joke as if trying to drown out the inevitable, feel painfully real. When Garridan wrestles with his past and loses himself to nightmares, his turmoil is so raw that I found myself genuinely unsettled. The eerie song of the Children whispered throughout the novel, adds an ever-present layer of tension. Every time it was mentioned, I braced for something awful.
What really struck me was the way McLean builds his world, not just the physical setting but also the deep-seated beliefs and corrupt politics that shape Valenfaar. The moment when Jo-een realizes the king and queen are oblivious to the country’s true state is a masterful piece of storytelling. It highlights a terrifying reality: those in power often live in ignorance while the people suffer. And then there’s Varen, the High Priest, whose chilling, calculated nature makes him one of the most compelling figures in the book. His confrontation with Fenrich, where he casually explains his complete control, is both fascinating and terrifying.
If there’s one thing that didn’t completely land for me, it’s some of the side characters. While figures like Garridan and Jo-een are deeply developed, others, like Roth, sometimes feel more like placeholders for comic relief than essential parts of the narrative. That said, even the lighter moments often serve a greater purpose, like the scene where Merl sings around the campfire, giving a fleeting glimpse of innocence before chaos erupts. The book thrives in its contrasts, making its darker turns even more gut-wrenching.
Valenfaar: The Children’s Song is a heavy, emotionally intense read that will appeal to fans of dark fantasy and military epics. If you enjoy books like The Black Company or The First Law trilogy, you’ll feel right at home here. It’s not a lighthearted adventure, but if you’re looking for a story that grabs you by the throat and refuses to let go, this is it. Just be warned: once you hear the Children’s song, you won’t forget it.
Pages: 279 | ASIN : B0BV7KM279
LITERARY TITAN 