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Interview with Steven Montano Interviewed by Mihi Hunted by Kevin Hearne reviewed by Casey Blair an View My Stats. Wednesday, July 3, Official Author Website. Order the book HERE.

Read Steven Montano's guest post on Cross-genre writing. Steven attended college at University of Colorado wherein he graduated with a degree in creative writing. He currently works as a certified public accountant. He lives with his wife, two kids, and a dog of dubious intellect in south of Seattle, Washington. Blood Skies was his debut. Now, in the distant aftermath of the war, the real battle is about to begin. Haunted by the crimes of his past, fallen dawn knight Azander Dane ekes out a mercenary existence as he drifts from one city to the next.

His latest job is to hunt down Ijanna Taivorkan , a powerful outlaw witch desperate to escape her destiny. Dane and Ijanna find themselves in Ebonmark, the City of Scars , where deadly crime guilds and shadowy agents of the White Dragon Empire prepare for a brutal confrontation. Pursued by apocalypse cults, mad alchemists, exiled giants and werewolf gangs, Dane and Ijanna soon learn a deadly lesson — in Ebonmark, only the cruelest and most cunning can survive. City Of Scars is the opening volume of the Skullborn trilogy.

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June 24, marked the e-book and paperback publication of City Of Scars and it was self-published by the author. Cover art is provided by Barry Currey. When he announced his new series The Skullborn trilogy , I was very excited for the books after I read all about the series setting as well as the characters and the magic system.

Things though never go as expected but surprisingly the events that follow change the course of the war and affect all parties and sides involved. Next the actual story begins with Azander Dane , a former Dawn knight who is now a mercenary and ekes out an existence that slowly erodes his self worth and conscience. And thanks to the guys at MonkeyGod Enterprises, Paizo Publishing, Bastion Press and Necromancer Games for first publishing my work back in the day and giving me the confidence to keep making stuff up.

Corgan stirred from his dreams and woke to the taste of blood.

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Distant voices clawed at the edge of his thoughts, forgotten songs from his childhood. Charcoal clouds stained the crimson sky. The canyon wall marking the northern edge of the Heartfang Wastes was just a jagged line on the horizon. Low vapors curled across the ground, a blend of mist from the Moon Sea and smoke from Jlantrian border towns put to the torch. They camped on an island of dry land in the muddy fields, in the shadow of a looming hillside covered with blade grass and red soil.

Several Silver Company soldiers had woken as Corgan had, pulled from uneasy slumber by a disturbance at the edge of camp.

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Corgan followed their gazes. A filthy wall of smoke loomed over them, dripping blood like rain. Rot stench emanated from the brume. There were only fifty-seven soldiers left in Silver Company. The camp came alive with the sounds of clanking armor and cries of alarm. The fog loomed over them as if it were ready to pounce.

Corgan grabbed his long-hafted sword, clenched his teeth and stood up.

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His hauberk shifted painfully against his undershirt. As unwise as it was to sleep in chain-and-plate there was little choice in the Heartfang Wastes, where you rested in armor if you hoped to ever wake again. The men hastily packed their belongings, rounded the few remaining horses and fled from the devilish fog.

The roiling mist seemed to extend for miles. Ambient light from within the smoke cast a sickly red glow upon the ground.

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He had a way of making every word seem scornful. They were bound to find us eventually. Corgan waited near the smoldering fires as his men cleared the camp. The earth darkened beneath the presence of the baleful Mists. A few tendrils of blood fog slithered across the ground like snakes. Animalistic growls churned deep inside the fumes. He hollered at his men to forget the tents. The roiling blood smoke steadily gained ground as the Company moved out, and Corgan watched, tensed, ready for the vapors to suddenly spring forward like a hunter cat done toying with its prey.

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Corgan nodded. He was alone in the campsite, a hundred paces away from the edge of the seething red mass. It swirled and broke like a storm of blood and milk.

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He heard whispers, the same razor voices from his dream. He left the camp behind and stayed just ahead of the fog as it rolled forward like a diseased and deliberate tide. Corgan rounded the hill and fell in with his men. The new day broke. Silver Company kept a good pace, and within the hour the unholy mists faded into the distance behind them.

He kept looking back over his shoulder.

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The rendezvous point was still miles away. The Company pushed deeper into the dismal plains known as the Heartfang Wastes. Boots slapped in the mud. It started to rain, and the dank water flowed through their dirty and mottled hair and into the chinks in their cold armor.