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Nicholas’s 2023 Year in Books
Take a look at Nicholas’s Year in Books. The long, the short—it’s all here.
Nicholas Eames’s Followers (6,287)
2,271 books
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104 friends
41 books
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378 friends
357 books
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174 friends
1,969 books
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4,788 friends
267 books
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184 friends
453 books
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80 friends
610 books
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67 friends
701 books
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684 friends
More friends…
Nicholas Eames
Goodreads Author
Born
Canada
Website
Twitter
Genre
Member Since
May 2016
URL
https://www.goodreads.com/nicholaseames
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Kings of the Wyld (The Band, #1)
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published
2017
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9 editions
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Bloody Rose (The Band, #2)
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published
2018
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28 editions
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Art of War
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published
2018
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2 editions
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Barbaric Vol. 3: Hell to Pay (3)
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Outlaw Empire
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The Band Nicholas Eames Collection 2 Books Set
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Revista Windumanoth: número 14
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published
2022
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Barbaric: Wrong Kind of Righteous #1
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published
2023
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2 editions
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Grimdark Magazine, Issue 13, October 2017
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published
2017
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3 editions
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Könige der Finsternis 1
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Get Your Hardcovers Here!
Friends!
The limited edition hardback of BLOODY ROSE is here at last! It is available in two varieties, both of them signed by yours truly. Roughly half of them, however, are numbered editions with a limitation page featuring an early sketch of the cover signed by the artist (Richard Anderson). These will be reserved until the end of December for those who have a numbered edition of KINGS OF THE WY
Read more of this blog post »
Related News
You can't boldly go anywhere if you only stick with what's familiar. Imagine if Frodo Baggins had stayed home or if Ender had...
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Nicholas’s Recent Updates
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Nicholas Eames
is 40% done with The Spear Cuts Through Water
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Nicholas Eames
is currently reading
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Nicholas Eames
is currently reading
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Nicholas Eames
finished reading
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Nicholas Eames
wants to read
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Nicholas Eames
is 25% done with The Shadow of the Gods
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Nicholas Eames
is currently reading
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Nicholas Eames
rated a book it was amazing
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Nicholas Eames
is currently reading
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Nicholas Eames
rated a book it was amazing
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| Well, dern, that was tragic. | |
“Among them is a renegade king, he who sired five royal heirs without ever unzipping his pants. A man to whom time has imparted great wisdom and an even greater waistline, whose thoughtless courage is rivalled only by his unquenchable thirst.
At his shoulder walks a sorcerer, a cosmic conversationalist. Enemy of the incurable rot, absent chairman of combustive sciences at the university in Oddsford, and the only living soul above the age of eight to believe in owlbears.
Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers. His is an ancient soul destined to die young.
And now comes the quiet one, the gentle giant, he who fights his battles with a shield. Stout as the tree that counts its age in aeons, constant as the star that marks true north and shines most brightly on the darkest nights.
A step ahead of these four: our hero. He is the candle burnt down to the stump, the cutting blade grown dull with overuse. But see now the spark in his stride. Behold the glint of steel in his gaze. Who dares to stand between a man such as this and that which he holds dear? He will kill, if he must, to protect it. He will die, if that is what it takes.
“Go get the boss,” says one guardsman to another. “This bunch looks like trouble.”
And they do. They do look like trouble, at least until the wizard trips on the hem of his robe. He stumbles, cursing, and fouls the steps of the others as he falls face-first onto the mud-slick hillside.”
― Kings of the Wyld
At his shoulder walks a sorcerer, a cosmic conversationalist. Enemy of the incurable rot, absent chairman of combustive sciences at the university in Oddsford, and the only living soul above the age of eight to believe in owlbears.
Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers. His is an ancient soul destined to die young.
And now comes the quiet one, the gentle giant, he who fights his battles with a shield. Stout as the tree that counts its age in aeons, constant as the star that marks true north and shines most brightly on the darkest nights.
A step ahead of these four: our hero. He is the candle burnt down to the stump, the cutting blade grown dull with overuse. But see now the spark in his stride. Behold the glint of steel in his gaze. Who dares to stand between a man such as this and that which he holds dear? He will kill, if he must, to protect it. He will die, if that is what it takes.
“Go get the boss,” says one guardsman to another. “This bunch looks like trouble.”
And they do. They do look like trouble, at least until the wizard trips on the hem of his robe. He stumbles, cursing, and fouls the steps of the others as he falls face-first onto the mud-slick hillside.”
― Kings of the Wyld
“But what does a mirror know? What can it show us of ourselves? Oh, it might reveal a few scars, and perhaps a glimpse—there, in the eyes—of our true nature. The spirit beneath the skin. Yet the deepest scars are often hidden, and though a mirror might reveal our weakness, it reflects only a fraction of our strength.”
― Kings of the Wyld
― Kings of the Wyld
Polls
Topics Mentioning This Author
| topics | posts | views | last activity | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
Grimdark Fantasy:
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Essential GD Authors and Series
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3 | 593 | Mar 21, 2017 07:21AM | |
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Beyond Reality:
What are you reading in March 2017?
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29 | 44 | Apr 02, 2017 03:23AM | |
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Dragons & Jetpacks:
Books of the Month - May 2017 Nominations
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52 | 117 | Apr 07, 2017 01:35PM | |
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Grimdark Fantasy:
July/August '17 Nominations
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28 | 120 | Jun 12, 2017 01:46AM | |
| Cozy Mysteries : June 2017 Mini Challenges | 175 | 250 | Jul 07, 2017 03:24PM | |
| Sci-fi and Heroic...: What are you reading this June, 2017? | 134 | 105 | Jul 16, 2017 06:36PM | |
| Fantasy Buddy Reads: FBR What are you reading July 17 | 45 | 122 | Jul 16, 2017 10:43PM | |
| SciFi and Fantasy...: Tor Reviewers Best of 2017... So Far | 5 | 61 | Jul 21, 2017 10:39PM |
“But what does a mirror know? What can it show us of ourselves? Oh, it might reveal a few scars, and perhaps a glimpse—there, in the eyes—of our true nature. The spirit beneath the skin. Yet the deepest scars are often hidden, and though a mirror might reveal our weakness, it reflects only a fraction of our strength.”
― Kings of the Wyld
― Kings of the Wyld
“Among them is a renegade king, he who sired five royal heirs without ever unzipping his pants. A man to whom time has imparted great wisdom and an even greater waistline, whose thoughtless courage is rivalled only by his unquenchable thirst.
At his shoulder walks a sorcerer, a cosmic conversationalist. Enemy of the incurable rot, absent chairman of combustive sciences at the university in Oddsford, and the only living soul above the age of eight to believe in owlbears.
Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers. His is an ancient soul destined to die young.
And now comes the quiet one, the gentle giant, he who fights his battles with a shield. Stout as the tree that counts its age in aeons, constant as the star that marks true north and shines most brightly on the darkest nights.
A step ahead of these four: our hero. He is the candle burnt down to the stump, the cutting blade grown dull with overuse. But see now the spark in his stride. Behold the glint of steel in his gaze. Who dares to stand between a man such as this and that which he holds dear? He will kill, if he must, to protect it. He will die, if that is what it takes.
“Go get the boss,” says one guardsman to another. “This bunch looks like trouble.”
And they do. They do look like trouble, at least until the wizard trips on the hem of his robe. He stumbles, cursing, and fouls the steps of the others as he falls face-first onto the mud-slick hillside.”
― Kings of the Wyld
At his shoulder walks a sorcerer, a cosmic conversationalist. Enemy of the incurable rot, absent chairman of combustive sciences at the university in Oddsford, and the only living soul above the age of eight to believe in owlbears.
Look here at a warrior born, a scion of power and poverty whose purpose is manifold: to shatter shackles, to murder monarchs, and to demonstrate that even the forces of good must sometimes enlist the service of big, bad motherfuckers. His is an ancient soul destined to die young.
And now comes the quiet one, the gentle giant, he who fights his battles with a shield. Stout as the tree that counts its age in aeons, constant as the star that marks true north and shines most brightly on the darkest nights.
A step ahead of these four: our hero. He is the candle burnt down to the stump, the cutting blade grown dull with overuse. But see now the spark in his stride. Behold the glint of steel in his gaze. Who dares to stand between a man such as this and that which he holds dear? He will kill, if he must, to protect it. He will die, if that is what it takes.
“Go get the boss,” says one guardsman to another. “This bunch looks like trouble.”
And they do. They do look like trouble, at least until the wizard trips on the hem of his robe. He stumbles, cursing, and fouls the steps of the others as he falls face-first onto the mud-slick hillside.”
― Kings of the Wyld
“The pool,” said Kallorek, pointing. “The pool, right there.”
“You mean the pond?”
“I mean the pool,” growled the booker. “Get in. Swim.” He accompanied these words with effusive gestures that set his jewellery ringing.
Clay examined the pond. “Swim to where?” he asked.
“What do you mean swim to where?” Kallorek’s brow deepened.
“Is it a healing spring?” Gabe asked. He flexed his arm, wincing as he extended it fully. “Because I think my elbow—”
“Listen, fuck your elbow!” Kallorek blew up. Clay had forgotten how short the booker’s fuse was. That big toothy smile one moment, and the next …“It ain’t a spring, or a pond, or a godsdamned sea nymph’s bathtub. It’s a fucking pool. Just a pool! You swim around in it to relax.”
― Kings of the Wyld
“You mean the pond?”
“I mean the pool,” growled the booker. “Get in. Swim.” He accompanied these words with effusive gestures that set his jewellery ringing.
Clay examined the pond. “Swim to where?” he asked.
“What do you mean swim to where?” Kallorek’s brow deepened.
“Is it a healing spring?” Gabe asked. He flexed his arm, wincing as he extended it fully. “Because I think my elbow—”
“Listen, fuck your elbow!” Kallorek blew up. Clay had forgotten how short the booker’s fuse was. That big toothy smile one moment, and the next …“It ain’t a spring, or a pond, or a godsdamned sea nymph’s bathtub. It’s a fucking pool. Just a pool! You swim around in it to relax.”
― Kings of the Wyld
“Has it ever occured to you, Master Ninefingers, that a sword is different from other weapons? Axes and maces and so forth are lethal enough, but they hang on the belt like dumb brutes. But a sword...a sword has a voice.
Sheathed it has little to say, to be sure, but you need only put your hand on the hilt and it begins to whisper in your enemy's ear. A gentle word. A word of caution. Do you hear it?
Now, compare it to the sword half drawn. It speaks louder, does it not? It hisses a dire threat. It makes a deadly promise. Do you hear it?
Now compare it to the sword full drawn. It shouts now, does it not? It screams defiance! It bellows a challenge! Do you hear it?”
― The Blade Itself
Sheathed it has little to say, to be sure, but you need only put your hand on the hilt and it begins to whisper in your enemy's ear. A gentle word. A word of caution. Do you hear it?
Now, compare it to the sword half drawn. It speaks louder, does it not? It hisses a dire threat. It makes a deadly promise. Do you hear it?
Now compare it to the sword full drawn. It shouts now, does it not? It screams defiance! It bellows a challenge! Do you hear it?”
― The Blade Itself
“A tiger, however fearsome, could be hunted into a corner. It fought alone, so it died alone. But to hunt a wolf was to constantly look over your shoulder, wondering if others were behind you in the dark. “Lost?”
― Kings of the Wyld
― Kings of the Wyld
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For readers of fantasy who are looking to find a partner or small group to read and discuss with! We run several fun ongoing challenges and discussion ...more
