The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

Our new novella staring Danaco, Bartleby, and Rannig, is now available!  Before the events of Damson's Distress, and indeed before Damson ever joined Captain Danaco and his crew, the men of the good ship Myrellenos had their own adventures . A mission to save an emissary's effects becomes a quest to dismantle the entire Sesternese underground, and by the power of Rannig's musical prowess, Danaco's cunning, and Bartleby's rants, the black markets of Sesterna will never be so disrupted nor so thoroughly entertained. Buy The Leaf Flute in digital format at any online retailer. To purchase on Amazon, click HERE.  Many thanks to all the readers who made this publication possible! 

Many wonder what sort of lady it is-- or lord, for that matter-- that can attach Captain Danaco's heart, and while he might have many a dalliance, there is only one who has succeeded in capturing his perfect attention: The Lady Tabytha Ardalyddes, Matron of the Cipher: A gale drifted in from the neighbouring harbour to complement the rising tide, and the saline intimation of the sea roused lilted over the balcony, rousing the matron from a gentle sloom. She sat   up on the bed, her legs swathed in silk sheets, her pinned hair disheveled and deflated, one side of her face warm and wrinkled whence pillows had pressed against it, and she had time for one oscitation before consciousness revived what the throes of violent passion had so lately exhausted. She hemmed and rubbed her eyes, her features illuminated by the subdued light pervading the balcony window. She had been only asleep a few moments, but the sight of sideboard already furnished with high tea, and the glimmer of mo...

The digital release of The Leaf Flute is fast approaching. The art is nearly done, and all the edits have been finished. It will be available through all digital retailers, and the paperback version will shortly follow. Become a patron on our Patreon page HERE , and receive The Leaf Flute e-book free at the end of the month. And now, part two of the wizard and Mr Vostibbens: T he wizard sighed and looked sullen, and Mr Vostibbens gave his leg an affectionate rub.                 “Yes, I know you are still here with me,” the wizard crooned, petting the cat on the head, “but you do spend most of your time at the teahouse with Tabytha, and rightfully so. I would have you here oftener, but I own that she is the properest person to be in charge of you while Beldynn is away. She is an excellent manager and a good friend for lonely old men who have nothing else to do but pine over their sons.” He paused, and ...

Mr Vostibbens, the teahouse cat, has many acquaintances, but his most pressing call is the one he makes to Haryld, one of the last wizards of Marridon: T he milkman’s cart rattled along the cobbles, the rag and bone man brought his bags in to be sorted, the sharpener took his bell down from the jaunty, and through the davering   gaits of laymen and labourers leaving their stations, Mr Vostibbens tittupped across the main square toward the fountain. He stopped to drink and glean the commendations from passing ladies about his cravat, and once he was amused enough, he pranced across to the wizard’s row, where the old men and their apprentices were storing their wares and taking down their tables for the day. A sharp look from a raven and a gawp from an owl was the worst censure he endured as he passed, but companions nowadays were not the same as they once were—a noble position, one to be revered and respected, not one to be filled up by the dregs of animal life -- and Mr Vo...

Bartleby enjoys animals upon the whole, but as a subject to be studied and catalogued. Mr Vostibbens, the teahouse cat, is a confusing subject, however. Join our Patreon page , and receive the novella about Mr Vostibbens at the end of the month. B artleby’s nostrils flared. “There will be no napping on my lap!” he demanded, in a fever of rage. “A beast has no business sleeping on anybody! You cannot simply lounge across my legs! And you are not sleeping besides. This is all a ruse, a game to make me coddle you!” “It’s all because you keep saying how you don’t like him, professor,” the publican chimed from the end of the counter, as he wiped down a glass. “Cats like people who don’t like them because they know they don’t like them.” Bartleby gave the publican a fierce look. “Did I say I don’t like cats?” “No, but you’re acting like--” “Did I say I don’t like cats?” the old man repeated, his whiskers birsing. The publican glanced about and looked ashamed. “…No.” ...