Other Works and Faery

Short Stories of Mithgar

Tales from the One-Eyed Crow - The Vulgmaster

"When the world was a young and magical place..." So begins this graphic novel, set in Mithgar, a fantasy world where Dennis McKiernan's previous series, including The Iron Tower Trilogy take place. It is here that Petal, a female Warrow (one of the Wee Folk), is kidnapped by Baron Stoke, the profoundly evil shapechanger and Master of the Vulgs, now immortal after having made a pact with a demon centuries back. But three of Petal's friends decide to save her, and they take on the Baron and his ruthless allies.


What happens next in this tantalizing tale of heroic and deadly adventure is told by an Old Warrow to his friends during a blizzard that traps them in an inn called "The One-Eyed Crow." To the delight of his hundereds of thousands of fans, Dennis McKiernan returns to the world of his best known and loved novels.

Tales of Mithgar

A TIME AND PLACE OF LEGENDS. Enter if you will the One-Eyed Crow, a cozy inn in the southeast corner of Market Square in the hamlet of Woody Hollow, in the heart of the Boskydells, home to those legendary beings, the Warrows. Warm yourself by the roaring fire, have a sip of some of the finest ale you'll ever have the chance to taste, and sit back and listen while the Wee Folk, their gemlike eyes gleaming with excitement, tell their unforgettable tales: A heroic quest leads a Warrow pair, an Elfess warrior, and a bear of a Man into the very heart of the vile Baron Stoke's citadel of evil. A storm-lost Thornwalker finds himself seeking shelter in a wolf's den. A fisherman tells a story about the honor of the chase. A spell-fueled war sets Agron's army against Wizard Modru's vile Hordes. Here are eleven new interwoven adventures of Mithgar down through the ages, as the finest Warrow tale-spinners - some heroes in their own right, some the decendants of those small survivors of earlier times - weave their very special enchantments for you, breathing new life into events long past but never ever forgotten.

Red Slippers: More Tales of Mithgar

Red Slippers: More Tales of Mithgar - Forward
(Reproduced by permission of Dennis L. McKiernan, copyright by Dennis L. McKiernan)


Red Slippers: More Tales of Mithgar: what a strange title, eh? I mean, what's all this about red slippers?


Well, in the past, in several stories set in Mithgar, I have referred to a place called the Red Slipper--a bordello, an inn, a tavern in Port Arbalin, a city on the southern shores of Arbalin Isle. It is perhaps the chief trading port along the Avagon Sea, and here often a person can find the Elvenship Eroean docked after one of its epic voyages. And in these tales many of the stories start out in that same Red Slipper.


Yet the title says red slippers, plural, and what's that all about?


Okay, I'll tell you: a "red slipper" is a term I use to denote a loose end, and there are quite a number of loose ends left over from the Mithgarian series.


You see, way back when I wrote The Dragonstone, I first brought up the term "red slipper" in the foreword of that book in reference to Sherlock Holmes. Here is what I said then, and it still applies:


----


Although to my knowledge this never happened, still I can imagine Watson beginning a narrative as follows: "It was soon after Holmes and I had resolved the peculiar case of the singular red slipper, when there came a knock on the door of our quarters at 221B Baker Street. As I set aside the paper and prepared to answer the summons, Holmes put a finger to his lips and hissed, 'Do not under any circumstance, Watson, open our door without your pistol in hand, for the visitor can be none other than the Bengalian assassin...'"


Watson would then go on to illuminate us as to the fascinating Case of the Circular Cord.


But you know what? We never do find out about the red slipper, the one mentioned in his opening sentence.


Yet, for those of us who avidly followed Watson's narratives, we knew, knew, that in between, in between, those cases we did get to read about, the Great Detective was out there solving other most singular enigmas, and if we just kept our eyes open, we indeed might see him afoot, observing clues obvious to him but completely obscure to us... obscure, that is, until explained, at which time Lestrade might say, "Oh, how simple. Why anyone can see that." -Um, you bet.


Now, I repeat, as far as I know, Watson did not chronicle any Case of the Red Slipper, nor did he publish anything concerning a Bengalian assassin or a circular cord... but surely such things should have been. After all, there was the case of the giant rat of Sumatra, and there was the account of the Addleton tragedy, and the story of the red leech, and the terrible death of Crosby the banker, and many, many more cases alluded to but never published... each a red slipper dropped upon the Holmesian 'scape.


And there are red slippers lying all across Mithgar, and every now and again I pick up one that somehow was dropped, and in my best Sherlockian manner I examine it closely and tell you what I see.


Some Mithgarian red slippers have been: a small silver horn found in the horde of Sleeth; a logbook entry concerning a crystal spear; a mention of the long-held secret of the Châkia; a stone knife which disappeared in an iron tower; a silver sword taken from the hand of a slain Elven prince; and so on. Some red slippers are enormous, such as a tapestry depicting a key moment in the Great War of the Ban. Some are small but have great impact, such as a stone ring given to an impossible child. These and more hold the most intriguing tales, and they are red slippers all, slippers which I may take up someday and see what they can tell you and me.


There is a problem in examining red slippers, though, for every time I take one up to tell its story, it seems more red slippers fall out.


Oh, well...


In any event, come with me as I pick up another one of these crimson shoes from the 'scape and let us not only see what we find but also what other red slippers might fall out.


----


Since I first wrote that foreword to The Dragonstone, I did take up some more red slippers, and still more fell out. And again I say, Oh, well...


Readers, however, do not much care for the "Oh, well" response, and many have been nagging me to tell about this red slipper or that one.


So, herein are twelve chapters, ten of which speak of twelve red slippers, one of which refuses to speak of a rather large and puzzling red slipper, and two of which drop another couple of red slippers down upon the 'scape.


That's the problem with those darn things: slippers keep falling out.


Regardless, roses are red, slippers are red, and so are valentines. And this is a well-deserved valentine to those who have crossed the realms of Mithgar at my side.


-Dennis L. McKiernan
May 2004

Other Works

Shadowtrap (Caverns of Socrates) - Book One of the Black Foxes

They called themselves the Black Foxes, a group of adventure gamers who transformed into: a pathfinder, a master healer, a bard whose music works surprising magic, a syldari Shadowmaster able to bend the darkness itself, and the leader, himself a warrior extraordinaire. They were chose to help test Avery, an artificial intelligence designed to create a virtual reality universe so convincing that the Black Foxes would forget the outside world. But no one anticipated losing control of Avery. Now the only hope for the Black Foxes rests in carrying out a dangerous quest to defeat the Demonqueen and beat Avery at its own deadly game.


Caverns of Socrates - Forward

(Reproduced by permission of Dennis L. McKiernan, copyright by Dennis L. McKiernan)


There is an anecdote that Samuel Johnson, the British writer, was asked how he would refute Bishop Berkeley's statement that the world was an illusion.

"I refute it thus!" he said, and kicked a large rock.


Some people think he was right; some think he was wrong; and some don't think about it at all.

I've been thinking about it.


You see, what both Johnson and Berkeley were concerned with is the nature of reality. Perhaps Johnson's answer showed a profound understanding of the nature of reality; on the other hand, perhaps it showed a profound ignorance. It could have shown a profound frustration, because what we are talking about here is metaphysics, which means we are dealing with beliefs, with faith--scientific proof is lacking.


In all of my novels I get to delve into some rather interesting themes, with thought-provoking questions posed, explored, but not necessarily definitively answered. Herein I take up (and perhaps shed some light on) three intriguing questions: (1)What is the nature of reality? (2)What is consciousness; what is the mind? (3)Do people have spirits, souls, and if so would an Artificial Intelligence have a soul?


Becoming entangled in metaphysical issues has both its rewards and its penalties: wonderful intellectual stimulation; no way to know if you are right.


In spite of the fact that I am dealing with three questions (wrapped in what I hope are two thrilling adventures), the fundamental issue this tale concerns itself with is the nature of reality.


I think I'll go outside now and kick a rock.


-Dennis L. McKiernan
March 1994

Shadowprey - Book Two of the Black Foxes

The Mithgar and Faery novels of Dennis L. McKiernan have long enchanted fans and critics alike. And they were equally enthralled with his bestselling science-fiction/fantasy novel: formerly titled Caverns of Socrates but in e-book form titled Shadowtrap. And now this gifted author presents us with the sequel to that story, a gripping tale to fire the imagination and make the heart pound. . . .

The Black Foxes are back in the grasp of the Dark God, and He is seeking revenge

Nearly one year ago a lightning strike damaged Avery—the artificial intelligence, AIVR—and for six months thereafter he refused to communicate with his creators. But then Timothy Rendell, a member of the talented team of Black Foxes, received a three-word message from somewhere within the machine, a message impelling the Foxes to step once again into deadly peril as they try to rescue one of their own from the shadow-world clutches of Mad Avery in his very lethal virtual reality.

Dennis L. McKiernan holds us spellbound by weaving together science and magic and hazard and derring-do in a heart-clutching story, a breathtaking saga spanning magical worlds and alien planets in a tale of science fiction, of fantasy, of horror, and a riveting account of a desperate group of skilled scientists trying to keep a team alive, as well as a high-stakes court case concerning the essence of humanity, the outcome of which means life or death for some.
From Dennis L. McKiernan, one of the most prolific and imaginative authors in science fiction and fantasy today, comes Shadowprey, the thrilling sequel to his acclaimed Shadowtrap (formerly titled Caverns of Socrates).

At the Edge of the Forest

Elizabeth Conway is missing, and someone is trying to kill Raven.


Cathleen’s Haven is a centuries-old dwelling at the edge of the forest known as Hunters Wood. To this retreat comes twenty-seven-year-old Raven Conway, bestselling author and Trustee of an enormous fortune. It has been three years since Raven has seen her younger sister, Elizabeth, who is afflicted with a baffling ailment that keeps her confined to the refuge and the fringes of the woodland beyond. But when Raven arrives she discovers her sister has vanished, as did their mother seven years past. Whether Elizabeth has been murdered or kidnapped, or has fled in fear, or has run away with a lover, Raven does not know, but she is determined to find the only sister she has. Yet even as Raven looks for her sister, killers come looking for Raven; someone wants her dead. Hired by the Trust to keep Raven alive, Nicholas Rogan—ex Army Ranger and the head of Blackledge Security—joins Raven in her search for Elizabeth and in untangling the mysteries revealed.

A heart-pounding mystery that deepens at every turn, At the Edge of the Forest is a tale involving ancient legends, inexplicable kings’ grants, a secret Presidential executive order, a fortune with a shadowy past, and a search for answers to questions too long ignored. The reader is warned: with a Dennis L. McKiernan story, prepare to be surprised. 

Strange Reflections

Naxianpheria is a Demon of a different sort, and Mages, or, that is, a limited number of Mages are her bane. Yet she has a way of coping with them in a world ignorant of science. ~


In a house filled with light there dwells a dark terror, much to the dismay of the one who perhaps happens to be the last living relative of the former owner. ~


Crossing a moor at night can be quite deadly, for should the Wild Hunt come riding by... well, best not be out, then. ~


Far within the deep dark woods there sits a tower with no doors. Take care, should you stumble across it. ~


There comes a time in every dead man's repose when enough is quite enough. But there are ways of getting even. ~


It is incumbent upon those casting spells to simply get them right, else the consequences, no matter how pleasurable, can be quite fatal. ~ 


Those stories and more lie within this book, rather like pools of strange reflections. ~


Dennis L. McKiernan has long enchanted fans and critics alike with his tales of Mithgar and Faery and his Caverns of Socrates. Yet McKiernan is also the author of a number of shorter stories, most of which appeared in various anthologies. This collection finally gathers them together in one place for your enjoyment.

Jezebel

A ghost story, coming soon as an eBook...

Lord of the Ravens

Coming Soon... Excerpts from Mithgar.com.

Novels of Faery

Once Upon A Winter's Night

The bestselling author of the immensely popular Mithgar books now turns his unique talents to a phantasmic retelling of the classic French fairy tale, "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" in which a young woman enters into a strange, peril-filled marriage to a mysterious prince...


Once Upon A Winter's Night - Forward

(Reproduced by permission of Dennis L. McKiernan, copyright by Dennis L. McKiernan)


I don't remember when I heard my first fairy tale or even what it was. It could have been Hansel and Gretel, for I did act the part of Hansel in a school play when I was but six.


Nor do I recall when I actually read my first fairy tale, though I do remember checking out fairy-tale books from the library when I was nine or so. I read through the full spectrum of the Andrew-Lang-edited fairy-tale books, and I do mean "spectrum," for the books were called The Crimson Fairy Book, The Red Fairy Book, The Pink Fairy Book, and on through Orange, Yellow, Olive, Green, Lilac, Blue, Violet, Grey, and Brown: i.e., the spectrum.


I loved those books, for, just as a Captain Future Quarterly had launched me into science fiction, these launched me into fantasy.


But, you know, it is my contention that many of the old fairy stories were severely shortened as the number of bards dwindled, and the people who were left to remember and pass on the tales simply didn't have the oratory skills to tell stories of epic scope. Too, we also know they were altered to help promote different religions from those in the societies where told, hence they were shortened merely to get the point across.


And so, it is my thesis that back when bards and poets and minstrels and the like sat in castles or in hovels or mansions or by campfires, or entertained patrons as they travelled along the way, surely the original stories were much longer, with many more wondrous encounters than the later, altered versions would have them be. After all, in the case of a bardic storyteller, she or he would hold audiences enthralled for long whiles with accounts of love and seduction and copious sex and bloody fights and knights and witches and Dragons and ogres and giants and other fantastic beings all littering the landscape of the tale as the hero or heroine struggled on.


Don't get me wrong, I am not putting down the altered versions of the fairy tales; after all, I loved them. What I am saying instead is I've always felt that many wonders were lost by the shortening and altering of each folk and fairy tale to fit a different song from that which the old bards and my Celtic ancestors would sing.


For this reason, I decided to tell a fairy tale (in the traditional manner and style) as I would like for it to have been told had I either been one of those bards or one of those in the audience. Consequently, in telling the story herein, just as I think did happen in the past, I too have amended the tale, adding back those things—sex and fights and other such trappings—which might or might not have been in the original telling once upon a time long, long ago in a castle far, far away.


The tale I chose is one of my favorites, one you can find in The Blue Fairy Book, one that is said to have come from the Norse. But, you know, I always thought that this particular story should have come from the vales of France—it is a romance, after all, and who better than the French to have started it? Hence, sprinkled here and there throughout my telling, you'll find French words to give it that flavor. You'll also find other languages scattered therein, but the seasoning of French is strong. By the bye, in my version of The Blue Fairy Book this story is but eleven pages long. I thought that much too short, and, as is apparent, I did lengthen it a bit.


-Dennis L. McKiernan
Tuscon, Arizona, 2000

Once Upon A Summer Day

Borel, Prince of the Winterwood, has been dreaming of a beautiful, golden-haired maiden night after night. He believes that she truly exists-and that she is in terrible danger. To save her, Borel must journey through the land of Faery-and face the dark forces that await him...


Once Upon A Summer Day - Forward

(Reproduced by permission of Dennis L. McKiernan, copyright by Dennis L. McKiernan)


Are fairy tales but relics of altogether greater stories that once might have been told, pale remnants of much longer, even epic sagas? To me it seems a possibility. Oh, perhaps not all fairy tales are faint echoes of once-mighty shouts, but I think some of them surely must be. You see, what many contend is that most fairy tales are stories from way-back-when, tales that were orally passed from person to person, and so they were unadorned and short and rather easy to remember. And many of them simply were to entertain, while others had a point to be made, whether it be a moral or a truism.

Some of the most beloved stories, those most likely to be passed from folk to folk, were co-opted by religion, and the heroes and heroines were said to be part of a particular religious group, whereas the villains were part of the old order--witches, goblins, trolls, and the like. Hence, these tales were used by whatever religion seized upon them to foster good will or belief, or to recruit. And some of the tales were shortened again to do this, or so I do believe. But as I said in the foreword of another book (Once Upon a Winter's Night), back when bards and poets and minstrels and the like sat in castles or in hovels or in mansions or by campfires, or entertained patrons as they travelled along the way, surely the original tales were much longer when told by these "professional" storytellers, than the tellings of the less skilled. And so the bards embellished their tales with many more wondrous encounters than the later, altered--shortened--versions would have them be. After all, in the case of a bardic storyteller, she or he would hold audiences enthralled for long whiles with accounts of love and seduction and copious sex and bloody fights and knights and witches and dragons and ogres and giants and other fantastic beings all littering the landscape of the tale as the hero or heroine struggled on. And so, I believe it is entirely possible that many of these splendid bardic sagas were severely shortened as the number of bards dwindled, and the people who were left to remember and pass on the tales simply didn't have the oratory skills to tell stories of epic scope. And so they grew shorter and shorter over time as particular portions of a tale went missing bit by bit, until they were pared down to the point where practically anybody could tell the story.


For example, were some great bard to tell a grand and glorious tale of the scope of, say, The Iliad, or The Odyssey, or even The Lord of the Rings, and were any one of these orally passed down through the ages from person to person, and if those passing on the tale were "common" folk, I believe the story would have dwindled a bit with each telling. And then, if one far-after day some Grimm brothers decided to write the beloved story down as it had come to be told, it might turn out to be an eight-page fairy tale.


Yes, I admit that's quite extreme, but I simply use it to make a point: that oral tales are difficult to pass on unless they are simple and short and rather easy to recall, or unless the people involved have phenomenal memories.


Thank heavens for writing, eh?


Don't misunderstand me; I am not putting down the fairy tales we've all come to cherish. I love them dearly: from the simplest "Little Red Riding Hood" and "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" and other tellings I heard from my mother and grandmother, to the Andrew Lang collections--The Crimson Fairy Book, The Red Fairy Book, The Pink Fairy Book, and on through Orange, Yellow, Olive, Green, Lilac, Blue, Violet, Grey, and Brown: i.e., the spectrum--to the works of more modern writers, such as Dunsany and White and Tolkien (arguably, they were fairy-tale writers though their works are labeled fantasy these days), to some of the works of current writers.


What I am saying instead is I've always felt that many wonders were lost by what I think might be the shortening and altering of each age-old folk and fairy tale to fit a different song from that which the old bards and my Celtic ancestors would sing.


And so, a few years past, I wrote my first "restored" fairy tale (Once Upon a Winter's Night) to tell (in a traditional manner and style) one of the time-honored tales as I think it once might have been told. And now here I am again with Once Upon a Summer Day, my second "restored" fairy tale. And once more I have chosen a tale that not only is one of my favorites, but is a favorite of people around the world.


And since it is a romance in addition to being an adventure, once more you will find French words sprinkled throughout to represent the "Old Tongue."


By the bye, in my version of The Blue Fairy Book this story is but six pages long; the version of Brothers Grimm is even shorter and probably better known. I thought that much too brief, and, as is apparent, I did lengthen it a bit. But then again, I claim that I am telling the "real" story, and who is to say I am not?


-Dennis L. McKiernan
Tucson, Arizona, 2005

Once Upon An Autumn Eve

Liaze, Princess of the Autumnwood, discovers a wounded knight has breached the boundary between her faery world and the land of mortal man-and recognizes him as the man her heart has been waiting for. But when he is snatched from her by a dark force, Liaze must undertake a perilous quest to retrieve her love...


Once Upon An Autumn Eve - Forward

(Reproduced by permission of Dennis L. McKiernan, copyright by Dennis L. McKiernan)


If you have read the forewords of the first two tales of my Faery series—Once Upon a Winter's Night and Once Upon a Summer Day—you will know my thesis is that once upon a time many (if not most) fairy tales were epics of love and seduction and copious sex and bloody fights and knights and witches and dragons and ogres and giants and other fantastic beings all scattered throughout the scope of the tale as the hero or heroine struggled on.

Bardic sagas were these, but as the minstrels and troubadours and sonneteers and tale spinners and bards and other such dwindled, and common folks took up the task of entertaining one another with these well-loved sagas, I believe bits were omitted--fell by the wayside--and the stories grew shorter, or fragmented into several stories, or changed to fit the current culture or religion or whatever other agendas the tale tellers might have had.


And so, if I'm right, the grand and sweeping tales bards used to keep their royal audiences enthralled for hours on end became less and less as the tales were spread from mouth to mouth. As the years went on, the stories continued to dwindle, until they became what the collectors of those tales—Andrew Lang, the Grimm brothers, and others—finally recorded and produced for others to read . . . or so it is I contend-


-pale reflections of what they once were-


-mere fragments-


-holding a small portion of the essence-


-and so on.


But guess what: they still hold audiences rapt.


They still charm.


They still are much admired by many, and certainly I am among those.


Even so, I would really like to hear some of these stories such as I have imagined them once to have been: long, gripping, romantic, perilous epics of love and hatred and loss and redemption and revenge and forgiveness and life and death and other such grand themes.


But told as a fairy tale.


Especially a favorite fairy tale.


Expanded to include all the above.


With Once Upon an Autumn Eve again I take a favorite of mine (in fact several favorites of mine woven together) to tell the tale as it once might have been told--as an epic, a saga, a story of length.


As with my other stories, since it is a romance in addition to being an adventure, once more you will find French words sprinkled throughout, for French is well-suited to tales of love.


By the bye, the best known version of the central story is but a few pages long. Once again, I thought that much too brief, and, as is apparent, I did lengthen it a bit. But then again, I claim that I am telling the "real" story, and who is to say I am not?


I hope it holds you enthralled.


-Dennis L. McKiernan
Tucson, Arizona, 2006

Once Upon A Spring Morn

The gallant knight Roel rides into the Springwood and finds his true heart's desire in Celeste, princess of that domain. But before their love can blossom, Roel must rescue his sister from a dreadful lord who steals the souls of those he bears away. Celeste joins her champion on a desperate odyssey across shadow-lit borders to save Roel's soul-reft sister before the dark of the moon.


Once Upon A Spring Morn - Forward

(Reproduced by permission of Dennis L. McKiernan, copyright by Dennis L. McKiernan)


If you have read the forewords of the first three tales of my Faery series - Once Upon a Winter's Night and Once Upon a Summer Day and Once Upon an Autumn Eve - you will know my thesis is that once upon a time many (if not most) fairy tales were epics of love and seduction and copious sex and bloody fights and knights and witches and dragons and ogres and giants and other fantastic beings all scattered throughout the scope of the tale as the hero or heroine struggled on.


Bardic sagas were these, but as the minstrels and troubadours and sonneteers and tale spinners and bards and other such dwindled, and common folks took up the task of entertaining one another with these well-loved epics, I believe bits were omitted - fell by the wayside - and the stories grew shorter, or fragmented into several stories, or changed to fit the current culture or religion or whatever other agendas the tale tellers might have had.


And so, if I'm right, the grand and sweeping tales bards used to keep their royal audiences enthralled for hours on end became less and less as the tales were spread from mouth to mouth. As the years went on, the stories continued to dwindle, until they became what the collectors of those tales - Andrew Lang, the Grimm brothers, and others - finally recorded and produced for others to read... or so it is I contend -


- pale reflections of what they once were -


- mere fragments -


- holding a small portion of the essence -


- and so on.


But guess what: they still hold audiences rapt.


They still charm.


They still are much admired by many, and certainly I am among those.


Even so, I would really like to hear some of these stories such as I have imagined them once to have been: long, gripping, romantic, perilous epics of love and hatred and loss and redemption and revenge and forgiveness and life and death and other such grand themes.


But told as a fairy tale.


Especially a favorite fairy tale.


Expanded to include all the above.


With Once Upon a Spring Morn this time I take two favorites of mine - woven together and mixed with what I think might have been - to tell the tale as I would have it be: an epic, a saga, a story of length.


As with my other stories, since it is a romance in addition to being an adventure, once more you will find French words sprinkled throughout, for French is well-suited to tales of love.


By the bye, the best known versions of the two central stories are but a few pages long. Once again, I thought that much too brief, and, as is apparent, I did lengthen them a bit. But then again, I claim that I am telling the "real" story, and who is to say I am not?


I hope it holds you enthralled.


-Dennis L. McKiernan
Tucson, Arizona, 2006

Once Upon A Dreadful Time

The vile witch Hradian sets events in motion to free her master, the wizard Orbane, who's been trapped in the Castle of Shadows. But her scheme results in unforeseen consequences-threatening not only the world of Faery but that of mortals as well.

Rising to the challenge, the heroes and heroines of Winterwood, Summerwood, Springwood, and Autumnwood join forces to rally humans and Fey alike to a cause that may be lost before it begins.


Once Upon A Dreadful Time - Forward

(Reproduced by permission of Dennis L. McKiernan, copyright by Dennis L. McKiernan)


This is the fifth and final tale in my five-book Faery series. The first four - Once Upon a Winter's Night and Once Upon a Summer Day and Once Upon an Autumn Eve and Once Upon a Spring Morn - were based upon known fairy tales. Oh, each of those known tales, as penned by those who collected them together, was but five to ten pages long, but in my tellings they became quite lengthy novels.


But this fifth story has its origins within the events in the previous four tales. The book does stand alone, however I do recommend that the first four be read ere taking on this tale. And, whereas the first four stories are at base love stories, this fifth one is a tale of war, though love and lovers are herein.


Oh, I did not leave out the knights and witches and dragons and ogres and giants and other fantastic beings, for they are scattered throughout the scope of this tale as the many heroes and heroines struggle on. Yet this story is a bit different from the others, though wonder and marvel yet abound. But it is the culmination of the other four, for they all led to this tale. And as with the first four tales, this story, too, contains a sprinkling of French, a very romantic language.


Would that I were one of those Keltoi bards of old to stand before the fire and tell you a grand and sweeping saga, one that would not only hold you rapt and cause you to laugh with joy and gasp in alarm and weep with sadness and cry out for vengeance at times. But we have no fire, and I do not stand before you, and I'm certainly not a Keltoi bard. Regardless, I do hope you enjoy the story held within these pages.


-Dennis L. McKiernan
Tucson, Arizona, 2007

Chronology of Mithgar

1E 9252: The Dragonstone

1E 9574: Voyage of the Fox Rider

2E 2195: The Hel's Crucible Duology

3E 1602: Dragondoom

3E 1986: Stolen Crown

4E 2018: The Iron Tower Trilogy

5E 231: The Silver Call Duology

5E 989: Eye of the Hunter

5E 1009: Silver Wolf, Black Falcon

6E 1: City of Jade

 

11/6/12 - At the Edge of the Forest (a parormal-mystery-romance)

1/17/13 - Strange Reflections (All of Dennis' anthologized short stories)

12/3/13 - Dragondoom (ROC reissue)

2/4/2014 - Stolen Crown (3rd Era Mithgar, War of the Usurper, hardcover)

4/2014 - Shadowtrap (a Black Foxes adventure, re-release of Caverns of Socrates)

? - Shadowprey (a Black Foxes adventure, sequel to Shadowtrap)

? - Jezebel (a ghost story)

? - Lord of the Ravens

TBA

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