I’m currently looking for representation for the first installment in my trilogy of adult fantasy novels.


In the northern heights of Qeldora among pinnacles of granite, the ancient abbey Boas nestles on a stone outcrop in the shadow of a sheer cliff. It is to Boas that the talented scribe Angus arrives in search of knowledge and illumination. But what Angus finds are echoes of half-forgotten lore, a secret in a ruined tower, and the beginnings of an epic awakening that will turn the fortunes of commoners and kings alike.


Angus turned around to the sight of Ruan’s Tower ablaze, throwing ghastly shadows on the cliff behind it. The spring breeze fuelled the flames and even before Angus had overcome the paralysis of shock, sparks carried to the nearest buildings in the fifth circle, a few of which were out of timber.

Angus bounded headlong for the cathedral through throngs of mobilized monks who were running with buckets and blankets to where the fires raged. Angus pushed, ducked, and elbowed his way forward until he collided with Connor’s wide frame. Without even apologizing, Angus wanted to step to the side and carry on with his mad sprint when the abbot grabbed him by the habit and pulled him back.

“Come to your senses, Angus! You’ll be of more help if you’d calm down.”

The scribe tugged on the cloth in Connor’s hands with frenzied determination. Connor grabbed Angus by the shoulders. “What’s the matter with you!”

Abruptly, Angus stopped his frantic attempts to escape and stared in the blue. “An axe. I need an axe.”


“Where can I find an axe?” the scribe repeated, now shouting. He knew with undeniable clarity that he needed an axe. How did Connor not grasp the obvious?

Bewildered, Connor let go of Angus. But the scribe did not run away. Instead, he said in the calm voice of utter desperation: “I need an axe. Right now. People are dying.”

Connor took one look at Angus’s calm face. “Follow me.” At a trot, he led Angus to the cathedral. He went up the stairs to the gallery and straight to a statue of St. Dorlin the Daemon Slayer, from whose stony grip he pulled out a decorative axe.

“This is the closest one I can think of.”

Angus grabbed the weapon. He sped down the stairs to the trapdoor behind the choir.


Qeldora is at war over the high throne, which has remained empty for centuries, and Angus is pulled right into the conflict. Which of the vying clans will emerge victorious? And what about the rightful heir to the throne?