Dreaming in Amber series
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HarperCollins Voyager published the Dreaming in Amber quartet - The Amber Legacy, A Solitary Journey, Prisoner of Fate, and The Demon Horsemen - from 2006-8. They were released as e-books in 2011 on Kobo. Cover artwork for the series was by Les Petersen, whose work can be found at http://www.lespetersen.com.au/
This series began with four key ideas or motivations. The first motivation was to create a character who ages over the length of the series, which Meg does, from a teenage girl, through motherhood to old age. The second concept was to draw together the 'histories' and events of my previous fantasy series - Andrakis and Ashua - into this series to create a ten novel saga. The third challenging concept was to introduce Australian landscapes, flora and fauna into a fantasy setting. The final motivation was to give a favourite character from the first series - A Ahmud Ki - a chance at redemption. The Dreaming in Amber novels follow the struggles of Meg Farmer to accept her fate, her destiny, in a world that is both rapidly changing and facing doom at the hands of religious fanatics. Initially caught up in events, and unable to control the power she has inherited, she eventually learns what she must do and that she cannot have the 'normal' life she longed for as a mother and a grandmother. The series was republished in 2024 by Millswood Books. Cover art is a complex digital art combination of AI generated images, stock images and Photoshop, Print copies at $30 each plus postage can be ordered directly from me by emailing [email protected]. I will provide an invoice with details for payment and, upon payment, I will send you the books you order. Depending on the printer, the turnaround is usually 2-3 weeks. Currently, the four books are also available through Amazon Australia in ebook and print version via the following links: THE AMBER LEGACY A SOLITARY JOURNEY PRISONER OF FATE THE DEMON HORSEMEN |
The original HarperCollins covers from 2006-8
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Sample chapter
Chapter One
The air was rich with the tang of eucalyptus as he rode through the mallee, but a flock of white corellas exploding from the branches of an ancient white gum startled his horse. He long ago left the main road, but this wild northeast country was unfamiliar to a man raised within the city’s walls, and he felt vulnerability stalking him. ‘Easy, Champion,’ he crooned, reassuring his mount with a neck rub, while the screeching corellas circled. By the time they resettled, he moved on, climbing a shallow rise, listening to the bushland sink back into dusk’s peacefulness.
At the crest, he blinked wearily. The trackside shadows were moving. He reined in, expecting a mob of kangaroos to bound from the bushes, but five soldiers stepped into his path, two with crossbows. He hauled his sword from its scabbard, and, reassured by its familiar weight, he yelled, ‘Get off the road!’
‘Get off your horse, Seeker!’ a voice ordered.
Behind the speaker were five more soldiers, their weapons drawn - men he trained personally. Whoever is behind this attack has a cruel mind, he decided. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ he yelled. ‘You all knew my father! He sent me here!’ The twang of crossbow wires warned him to duck the murderous shafts, and with a savage kick he urged his horse forward. The men held their ground, but Champion charged through the line like wind through chaff, and Seeker felt relief knowing that he escaped.
And Champion stumbled and fell.
Seeker tumbled out of the mallee tangle into which the horse pitched and straightened to face his attackers. The long bleeding wound across his horse’s shoulder showed why Champion faltered. He measured the odds, with the crossbowmen sprawled on the track, flattened by his charge, but the odds were miserable.
He dodged the first man’s attack, tripped the second, parried the third sword and cut low across the fourth man’s shins. He ducked under another sword swing and blocked a thrusting blade. A quick stab right, a spin and sweeping cut, and two soldiers staggered back, clasping vicious wounds, blood trickling between their fingers. A sharp pain in his side was followed by a solid blow across his helmet. He rallied and drove back two attackers, but when he saw the others surrounding him he feinted and plunged into the bushes.
His only hope was to avoid being cornered. Moving, he was harder to hit, and they had to take risks to get at him. He sidestepped a bush, turned, and caught a pursuer across the face with his blade. He ran to a thin gum tree, baulked as if going left, lunged right and smashed a chaser across the throat with the back of his gauntleted left fist. Instantly spinning right, he surprised another attacker, his blade flashing past the man’s horrified face. Then he ran.
Barely ten paces on, he turned to confront the first pursuer. His sword sank into the man’s groin, but he misjudged the momentum, and the fatally wounded soldier ploughed him backwards into the undergrowth. He pushed the soldier off and scrambled out of the bush on all fours, only to be met with a crunching blow across his shoulders. He rolled with the force and took a savage kick to the ribs as he tried to rise. Gritting his teeth, he swung blindly, and his knuckles cracked across metal. As he bellowed with pain, something smashed across his jaw and he flopped onto his back, blood pooling in his mouth, his lips smarting. A blurry shadow stood over him. He lashed out with a leg, rolled and got to his feet. A sword swept in. He ducked under the blade, caught the wielder’s arm, snapped it across his knee twice, wrenched the sword loose, hacked at the man’s head and pushed the hapless victim away. He spun to face yet another man, and his rage exploded. Reckless, he waded in, swinging his sword with violent abandon, until he broke through the soldier’s desperate defence and cut him down.
One soldier remained in the dusk’s deepening shadows. His posture was aggressive, but Seeker could see his fear. ‘Why did you do this, Hardfist?’ he asked, stepping forward. ‘Who paid you to betray me?’
‘It wasn’t my idea, Leader,’ the young man nervously answered.
‘Who paid you?’ Seeker repeated.
‘Seer Truth. He said we would have places in Paradise if we did this.’
Seeker understood. Truth was the man his father warned him to beware. ‘Instead, you look like going to Hell,’ he said, with sadness. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No.’
‘Good. See if any of the others need your help. I have a job to finish.’ He turned, spinning his sword hilt in his hand, glad that the fighting was finished. A cracking twig saved him. He leapt left, leaving a sword slicing harmlessly through the empty air, and with a sharp back-thrust he stabbed Hardfist in the throat. Using his strength to keep the impaled soldier on his feet, he turned, and grimaced when he saw the shock on the dying man’s face. With a grunt, he ripped the blade out and let the victim crumple.
The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving waves of cloud stained vermillion. He watched the light spread across the sky like wildfire, quickening in a final glorious blaze before succumbing to the smothering night.
A short time later, he trudged up the track, enduring the ache of the bruises and cuts received in the chaotic fighting, pressing his hand against the bleeding wound in his side. He regretted his decision to execute the wounded soldiers, but after Hardfist’s treachery he knew he could never trust his life with them again. The crossbowmen that Champion trampled were lying on the track, and Seeker did not look down as he walked between them, no longer caring to see the treacherous faces of men he had commanded in the Queen’s army.
Champion was waiting patiently. Seeker checked the extent of the horse’s wound and was satisfied that he could still be ridden. He wished that he didn’t have to put the animal through more pain, but he was still half a day across country from the village and he had to warn the Keeper of the Conduit that his life was in danger. With considerable effort, he slipped his foot into the stirrup.
Something thumped into his back, knocking him sideways out of his saddle.
Caught between deep, searing pain and an inability to breathe, he half-heard the approaching shuffle of boots dragging along the track. He knew he couldn’t roll any further because a metal rod protruded from his chest, so when the voice rasped above him he was still staring at the Queen’s regulation army boots a hand’s span from his face. ‘Sorry, Leader. Shooting a man in the back isn’t exactly fair, is it? But you see your bloody horse knocked the shit out of me. I think I’ve got more busted ribs than I can count. You always told us if we can’t fight fair, fight any way we can. I did what you taught me, Leader.’
A voice inside wanted to say, ‘Nice work, Ditch,’ but a stronger voice was impelling him to act. Summoning his waning strength, he spun on his shoulder, swinging his legs to take Ditch’s legs out from under him. Caught off guard, Ditch attempted to jump clear, but Seeker brought him down. Ditch hit the ground on his shattered ribs, and yelped, and when he opened his eyes Seeker was already slitting his throat.
Seeker climbed off the man and straightened gingerly. Pain throbbed bitterly through his chest as he struggled to breathe, and blood dripped from his mouth. He cursed, because he knew he was dying. He resisted the urge to wrench out the crossbow bolt. Battle experience told him that would hasten his bleeding to death. He doubted he had the courage to pull it out anyway, and it was in an awkward position to reach. He fumbled for Champion’s reins, and after several agonising efforts he hauled himself into the saddle. ‘I need your help, Champs,’ he wheezed quietly, and with a gentle pat on the grey’s head he pointed the horse into the darkening bush.
The air was rich with the tang of eucalyptus as he rode through the mallee, but a flock of white corellas exploding from the branches of an ancient white gum startled his horse. He long ago left the main road, but this wild northeast country was unfamiliar to a man raised within the city’s walls, and he felt vulnerability stalking him. ‘Easy, Champion,’ he crooned, reassuring his mount with a neck rub, while the screeching corellas circled. By the time they resettled, he moved on, climbing a shallow rise, listening to the bushland sink back into dusk’s peacefulness.
At the crest, he blinked wearily. The trackside shadows were moving. He reined in, expecting a mob of kangaroos to bound from the bushes, but five soldiers stepped into his path, two with crossbows. He hauled his sword from its scabbard, and, reassured by its familiar weight, he yelled, ‘Get off the road!’
‘Get off your horse, Seeker!’ a voice ordered.
Behind the speaker were five more soldiers, their weapons drawn - men he trained personally. Whoever is behind this attack has a cruel mind, he decided. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ he yelled. ‘You all knew my father! He sent me here!’ The twang of crossbow wires warned him to duck the murderous shafts, and with a savage kick he urged his horse forward. The men held their ground, but Champion charged through the line like wind through chaff, and Seeker felt relief knowing that he escaped.
And Champion stumbled and fell.
Seeker tumbled out of the mallee tangle into which the horse pitched and straightened to face his attackers. The long bleeding wound across his horse’s shoulder showed why Champion faltered. He measured the odds, with the crossbowmen sprawled on the track, flattened by his charge, but the odds were miserable.
He dodged the first man’s attack, tripped the second, parried the third sword and cut low across the fourth man’s shins. He ducked under another sword swing and blocked a thrusting blade. A quick stab right, a spin and sweeping cut, and two soldiers staggered back, clasping vicious wounds, blood trickling between their fingers. A sharp pain in his side was followed by a solid blow across his helmet. He rallied and drove back two attackers, but when he saw the others surrounding him he feinted and plunged into the bushes.
His only hope was to avoid being cornered. Moving, he was harder to hit, and they had to take risks to get at him. He sidestepped a bush, turned, and caught a pursuer across the face with his blade. He ran to a thin gum tree, baulked as if going left, lunged right and smashed a chaser across the throat with the back of his gauntleted left fist. Instantly spinning right, he surprised another attacker, his blade flashing past the man’s horrified face. Then he ran.
Barely ten paces on, he turned to confront the first pursuer. His sword sank into the man’s groin, but he misjudged the momentum, and the fatally wounded soldier ploughed him backwards into the undergrowth. He pushed the soldier off and scrambled out of the bush on all fours, only to be met with a crunching blow across his shoulders. He rolled with the force and took a savage kick to the ribs as he tried to rise. Gritting his teeth, he swung blindly, and his knuckles cracked across metal. As he bellowed with pain, something smashed across his jaw and he flopped onto his back, blood pooling in his mouth, his lips smarting. A blurry shadow stood over him. He lashed out with a leg, rolled and got to his feet. A sword swept in. He ducked under the blade, caught the wielder’s arm, snapped it across his knee twice, wrenched the sword loose, hacked at the man’s head and pushed the hapless victim away. He spun to face yet another man, and his rage exploded. Reckless, he waded in, swinging his sword with violent abandon, until he broke through the soldier’s desperate defence and cut him down.
One soldier remained in the dusk’s deepening shadows. His posture was aggressive, but Seeker could see his fear. ‘Why did you do this, Hardfist?’ he asked, stepping forward. ‘Who paid you to betray me?’
‘It wasn’t my idea, Leader,’ the young man nervously answered.
‘Who paid you?’ Seeker repeated.
‘Seer Truth. He said we would have places in Paradise if we did this.’
Seeker understood. Truth was the man his father warned him to beware. ‘Instead, you look like going to Hell,’ he said, with sadness. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No.’
‘Good. See if any of the others need your help. I have a job to finish.’ He turned, spinning his sword hilt in his hand, glad that the fighting was finished. A cracking twig saved him. He leapt left, leaving a sword slicing harmlessly through the empty air, and with a sharp back-thrust he stabbed Hardfist in the throat. Using his strength to keep the impaled soldier on his feet, he turned, and grimaced when he saw the shock on the dying man’s face. With a grunt, he ripped the blade out and let the victim crumple.
The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving waves of cloud stained vermillion. He watched the light spread across the sky like wildfire, quickening in a final glorious blaze before succumbing to the smothering night.
A short time later, he trudged up the track, enduring the ache of the bruises and cuts received in the chaotic fighting, pressing his hand against the bleeding wound in his side. He regretted his decision to execute the wounded soldiers, but after Hardfist’s treachery he knew he could never trust his life with them again. The crossbowmen that Champion trampled were lying on the track, and Seeker did not look down as he walked between them, no longer caring to see the treacherous faces of men he had commanded in the Queen’s army.
Champion was waiting patiently. Seeker checked the extent of the horse’s wound and was satisfied that he could still be ridden. He wished that he didn’t have to put the animal through more pain, but he was still half a day across country from the village and he had to warn the Keeper of the Conduit that his life was in danger. With considerable effort, he slipped his foot into the stirrup.
Something thumped into his back, knocking him sideways out of his saddle.
Caught between deep, searing pain and an inability to breathe, he half-heard the approaching shuffle of boots dragging along the track. He knew he couldn’t roll any further because a metal rod protruded from his chest, so when the voice rasped above him he was still staring at the Queen’s regulation army boots a hand’s span from his face. ‘Sorry, Leader. Shooting a man in the back isn’t exactly fair, is it? But you see your bloody horse knocked the shit out of me. I think I’ve got more busted ribs than I can count. You always told us if we can’t fight fair, fight any way we can. I did what you taught me, Leader.’
A voice inside wanted to say, ‘Nice work, Ditch,’ but a stronger voice was impelling him to act. Summoning his waning strength, he spun on his shoulder, swinging his legs to take Ditch’s legs out from under him. Caught off guard, Ditch attempted to jump clear, but Seeker brought him down. Ditch hit the ground on his shattered ribs, and yelped, and when he opened his eyes Seeker was already slitting his throat.
Seeker climbed off the man and straightened gingerly. Pain throbbed bitterly through his chest as he struggled to breathe, and blood dripped from his mouth. He cursed, because he knew he was dying. He resisted the urge to wrench out the crossbow bolt. Battle experience told him that would hasten his bleeding to death. He doubted he had the courage to pull it out anyway, and it was in an awkward position to reach. He fumbled for Champion’s reins, and after several agonising efforts he hauled himself into the saddle. ‘I need your help, Champs,’ he wheezed quietly, and with a gentle pat on the grey’s head he pointed the horse into the darkening bush.