[title]
[message]Throne of the Bastards
by Steven L. Shrewsbury and Brian Keene
Cover art by Daniel Kamarudin
ISBN 9781937009601
Pp. 194
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Sword and sorcery collide with horror once again in this sequel to Brian Keene and Steven L. Shrewsbury’s award-winning King of the Bastards.
Learning that his family is in danger, Rogan returns to his former kingdom, now under siege from foreign invaders and supernatural forces led by his bastard son. With time running out, the aging barbarian and his trusted companions, Javan and Akibeel, must forge an alliance of new friends and old foes, mustering an army to retake the kingdom. Surrounded by savages, soldiers, demons, and dark magic, it will take all of their cunning, skill, ruthlessness, and courage to survive the slaughter and determine once and for all who shall sit upon the Throne of the Bastards.
About the Authors
Steven L. Shrewsbury lives, works, and writes in rural Illinois. Over three hundred and sixty of his short stories have been published in print or electronically, along with over one hundred poems. His novels include Godforsaken, Overkill, Thrall, Bedlam Unleashed, Hawg, Tormentor, Stronger Than Death, Hell Billy, Bag Magick, and many more—all running the gamut from sword and sorcery to historical fantasy to horror. A husband and father, he loves books, British television programs, guns, movies, politics, sports, and hanging out with his family. He looks for brightness wherever it may hide.
Brian Keene writes novels, comic books, short fiction, and occasional journalism for money. He is the author of over fifty books, mostly in the horror, crime, and dark fantasy genres. His 2003 novel, The Rising, is often credited with inspiring pop culture’s current interest in zombies. He has won numerous awards and honors, including the 2014 World Horror Grandmaster Award, 2001 Bram Stoker Award for Nonfiction, 2003 Bram Stoker Award for First Novel, 2004 Shocker Award for Book of the Year, and Honors from United States Army International Security Assistance Force in Afghanistan and Whiteman A.F.B. (home of the B-2 Stealth Bomber) 509th Logistics Fuels Flight. The father of two sons, Keene lives in rural Pennsylvania.
Excerpt
The great vessel heaved, sending the man and his attentive children sprawling to the deck. A spray of salt water washed over the edge, dousing them all. At first, the children laughed. Then, when they saw the black-red serrated pincers appear out of the foam and snap the vessel’s rail, they screamed.
“You know the drill,” the man shouted as he dropped to his knees. “Tubal, grab the swords! Gomer, you look alive! Tiras and Magog, to his side!”
Tubal, a dark-haired youth of ten summers went into a roll across the deck, not even trying to rise, and stopped his progress by bouncing against a large butcher’s block sporting many leatherbound pommels. He righted himself and started to yank the handles out, throwing them at his brothers and father.
The ship groaned, careening sharply to one side as the clawed thing tried to heave its bulk aboard. Water streamed from its carapace. It waved one clawed arm in the air, snapping its massive pincers together and making a terrible sound.
CLICK-CLICK … CLICK-CLICK …
Tubal paused, gaping. His eyes went from the monster to his brothers, and then back to the monster again. He spotted a stinger-equipped tail jutting from the water.
“Back to the deep,” their father shouted as he slashed at one of the creature’s spindly legs, cracking the chitinous coating and cleaving into the flesh beneath. The beast screeched and slipped backwards. The big man sawed his sword back and forth, cleaving through the appendage.
CLICK-CLICK … CLICK-CLICK …
Though maimed, the monstrosity pulled itself up further, using its claws to grip the great boat. The boys attacked these, slamming their small blades—cast for children—against the hard shell. The creature’s eyes, like two black balls suspended on stalks, goggled at them. It opened its beak-like mouth and hissed.
One of the boys stabbed down into the claw as if he were digging a post hole for a fence. Grinning, he twisted his weapon and yelled, “Wodan!”
“Here now, Gomer!” Their father backhanded the youth, aiming for the top of his head but slapping him flat in the face, sending him careening ass over elbows to the deck. “Speak not the name of the old gods.”
Tubal, a head taller than the others, stepped up and executed a clean slash across the monster’s face, severing both eyestalks, while his father hacked at the claws.
“He pretends to be Grandfather,” Tubal explained. “He’s playing around.”
Their father rolled his eyes. “I better tell you to tales of your pious grandsire, from now on, rather than stories about the King of Albion. Tiras, look alive!”
Their father cleaved through one claw. Gomer rose, nose bleeding, but a smile on his face. Blood dripped onto his teeth as his lips parted.
“For Grandfather Rogan!” He stabbed again at the other claw. The monster let go of the deck and seized the boy’s sword instead. As it toppled back into the ocean, Gomer almost went with him. When he released his sword hilt, he fell sprawling to the deck again.
The beast sank beneath the churning sea, turning the froth red with its blood, and taking the youth’s sword with it.
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- Description
- About the Authors
- Excerpt
Sword and sorcery collide with horror once again in this sequel to Brian Keene and Steven L. Shrewsbury’s award-winning King of the Bastards.
Learning that his family is in danger, Rogan returns to his former kingdom, now under siege from foreign invaders and supernatural forces led by his bastard son. With time running out, the aging barbarian and his trusted companions, Javan and Akibeel, must forge an alliance of new friends and old foes, mustering an army to retake the kingdom. Surrounded by savages, soldiers, demons, and dark magic, it will take all of their cunning, skill, ruthlessness, and courage to survive the slaughter and determine once and for all who shall sit upon the Throne of the Bastards.
Steven L. Shrewsbury lives, works, and writes in rural Illinois. Over three hundred and sixty of his short stories have been published in print or electronically, along with over one hundred poems. His novels include Godforsaken, Overkill, Thrall, Bedlam Unleashed, Hawg, Tormentor, Stronger Than Death, Hell Billy, Bag Magick, and many more—all running the gamut from sword and sorcery to historical fantasy to horror. A husband and father, he loves books, British television programs, guns, movies, politics, sports, and hanging out with his family. He looks for brightness wherever it may hide.
Brian Keene writes novels, comic books, short fiction, and occasional journalism for money. He is the author of over fifty books, mostly in the horror, crime, and dark fantasy genres. His 2003 novel, The Rising, is often credited with inspiring pop culture’s current interest in zombies. He has won numerous awards and honors, including the 2014 World Horror Grandmaster Award, 2001 Bram Stoker Award for Nonfiction, 2003 Bram Stoker Award for First Novel, 2004 Shocker Award for Book of the Year, and Honors from United States Army International Security Assistance Force in Afghanistan and Whiteman A.F.B. (home of the B-2 Stealth Bomber) 509th Logistics Fuels Flight. The father of two sons, Keene lives in rural Pennsylvania.
The great vessel heaved, sending the man and his attentive children sprawling to the deck. A spray of salt water washed over the edge, dousing them all. At first, the children laughed. Then, when they saw the black-red serrated pincers appear out of the foam and snap the vessel’s rail, they screamed.
“You know the drill,” the man shouted as he dropped to his knees. “Tubal, grab the swords! Gomer, you look alive! Tiras and Magog, to his side!”
Tubal, a dark-haired youth of ten summers went into a roll across the deck, not even trying to rise, and stopped his progress by bouncing against a large butcher’s block sporting many leatherbound pommels. He righted himself and started to yank the handles out, throwing them at his brothers and father.
The ship groaned, careening sharply to one side as the clawed thing tried to heave its bulk aboard. Water streamed from its carapace. It waved one clawed arm in the air, snapping its massive pincers together and making a terrible sound.
CLICK-CLICK … CLICK-CLICK …
Tubal paused, gaping. His eyes went from the monster to his brothers, and then back to the monster again. He spotted a stinger-equipped tail jutting from the water.
“Back to the deep,” their father shouted as he slashed at one of the creature’s spindly legs, cracking the chitinous coating and cleaving into the flesh beneath. The beast screeched and slipped backwards. The big man sawed his sword back and forth, cleaving through the appendage.
CLICK-CLICK … CLICK-CLICK …
Though maimed, the monstrosity pulled itself up further, using its claws to grip the great boat. The boys attacked these, slamming their small blades—cast for children—against the hard shell. The creature’s eyes, like two black balls suspended on stalks, goggled at them. It opened its beak-like mouth and hissed.
One of the boys stabbed down into the claw as if he were digging a post hole for a fence. Grinning, he twisted his weapon and yelled, “Wodan!”
“Here now, Gomer!” Their father backhanded the youth, aiming for the top of his head but slapping him flat in the face, sending him careening ass over elbows to the deck. “Speak not the name of the old gods.”
Tubal, a head taller than the others, stepped up and executed a clean slash across the monster’s face, severing both eyestalks, while his father hacked at the claws.
“He pretends to be Grandfather,” Tubal explained. “He’s playing around.”
Their father rolled his eyes. “I better tell you to tales of your pious grandsire, from now on, rather than stories about the King of Albion. Tiras, look alive!”
Their father cleaved through one claw. Gomer rose, nose bleeding, but a smile on his face. Blood dripped onto his teeth as his lips parted.
“For Grandfather Rogan!” He stabbed again at the other claw. The monster let go of the deck and seized the boy’s sword instead. As it toppled back into the ocean, Gomer almost went with him. When he released his sword hilt, he fell sprawling to the deck again.
The beast sank beneath the churning sea, turning the froth red with its blood, and taking the youth’s sword with it.

Throne of the Bastards