"This second book in the Legends of the Nameless Dwarf was a book I found hard to put down... there were many great moments in this novel that I can reflect upon." -- Ray Nicholson (Amazon Top 1000 reviewer)
"D.P. Prior continues to exceed my expectations." -- Frederick H.
"Again Prior brings his characters to life, and gives the reader a full pallet of deep, epic fantasy to savor." -- @DahgMahn
"Gritty, tense, and brutally tragic. High quality storytelling with great characters and a relentless plot." -- Mitchell Hogan, author of A Crucible of Souls and Aurealis Award winner.
“A dwarf with no name is a dwarf most shamed.”
As the lands above the ravine city of Arx Gravis face their gravest peril, the last desperate hope of Creation lies in a dwarf with a grisly past:
The Nameless Dwarf–a pariah, untouchable, the most cursed of dwarven kind.
But in a world plagued by deception, where no action is free from risk, the road to salvation is shadowed with portents of blood.
Book 2 of the series, Legends of the Nameless Dwarf, which has been a bestseller on Amazon since January 2016, when it was released. The series has been ranked as high as 1 in Epic Fantasy, Sword and Sorcery, and Dark Fantasy.
Geas of the Black Axe consistently had the highest number of page reads (paid) of any book in the series when it was enrolled in Kindle Unlimited. It also frequently outsells the other books in the series.
AWAKENING
It was black as the Void.
The air was dank, heavy with must. He could smell something rancid…
Bad breath.
His breath.
There was something covering his head. He could feel its oppressive snugness.
His heart stuttered to life, and he gasped.
Had he been sleeping? No, he was upright. His arse was numb from sitting too long. In a fit of panic, he tried to move, but nothing worked. It could have been someone else’s body, for all the control he had over it. If only he could open his eyes, see where he was, but they were glued shut with the sleep of a thousand years. He concentrated on a finger, did his best to curl it, but it had the suppleness of a fossil.
There was a sound—murmuring, droning. Someone uttering, reciting, praying, over and over.
At least his ears still worked. And at least he wasn’t alone. He forced the words of a challenge into his sand-dry throat, but he couldn’t squeeze them past his lips.
A chasm yawned within him, and what little awareness he had cascaded into its depths. From the pit of darkness at the bottom, a jagged wound screamed its wrongness at him. An unformed question floated above the void. It coagulated into words:
Who am I?
A ruddy haze passed behind his eyelids. Or was it a stain? His newly awakened heart juddered and almost stopped.
Blood.
He could smell it now.
Enough of it to drench his skin and soak through. Rivers of blood, and him bathed in it, from hands to elbows, from feet to knees. It spattered his face, matted his beard. He remembered chopping; the rise and fall of an axe. Screams. Such screams, as if all the demons of the Abyss were thrashing and wailing about him.
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Afrikaans
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Dutch
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Finnish
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French
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Already translated.
Translated by Cécile Bénédic
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German
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Greek
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Hindi
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Irish
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Italian
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Japanese
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Norwegian
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Marco Andana
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Swedish
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Unavailable for translation.
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