The Sword Saint

As Gabriel raised his head, he saw a light appear high up on the hill, a grain of gold in the distance, as if a bonfire burned on the peak. In awe, he stood still and shaded his eyes.

‘What is that?’ he said, turning to the one next to him.

They had fought side by side for years but Gabriel did not know his name. He realised he had not spoken a word to any of them before that day, as if his mouth had been sewn shut without him knowing. The stranger had a cruel face, his teeth sharpened to points. Gabriel had heard of such things in warriors. Fear was as much a weapon as a sword.

‘I have not seen it before,’ the man said.

His voice too seemed unused, almost a croak. It was the voice of a dead man.

The third instalment in a brand-new dark fantasy series from the country’s most daring historical novelist