Blog Tour Excerpt & Giveaway: The Black Tower by Steve Montano

The Black Tower is Book Three in the Skullborn Trilogy

Haven’t read the previous two books? Check them out now!

City of Scars

Find It: Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Path of Bones

Find It: Goodreads | Amazon | Barnes & Noble

And make sure to check out the giveaway at the bottom of the post! You would win a signed copy of Vampire Down!

black_tower_cmyk (1) War returns to Malzaria in this epic conclusion to The Skullborn Trilogy.

Deep in the wastes called the Bonelands, rival crime guilds and renegade Bloodspeakers battle through the ruined streets of Corinth. At the heart of the doomed city lies a magical portal which grants access to the dark citadel of Chul Gaerog, wherein lie the secrets of the long dead Blood Queen.

Armies amass to the south as powerful forces from the Jlantrian and Den’nari Empires make ready to clash with the monstrous Black Army and its frightful leader, the black giant called Ghul, agent of the Cabal and ally of the dreaded Iron Count.

And deep in the heart of the black tower, the dream witch Ijanna Taivorkan comes face-to-face with the dark angel Calladar, once guardian to the Blood Queen and self-appointed master of the citadel. Only the fallen knight Azander Dane can help her survive her trials, but first he must face the demons of his past, as well as a merciless squad of Jlantrian hunters sent to destroy the woman he’s sworn to protect…

Return to a world of dark magic, tainted heroes and dark plots in this action-packed sequel to City of Scars and Path of Bones.

Find it: Goodreads | Amazon | Barne & Noble

Excerpt

He emerged from the narrow corridor, passed through another cleft in the rock like a sliver cut away from the edge of the mountain, and stepped into something far less sane.

The cavern at the bottom of the steps was enormous, a field of hedged black rock and cleaved limestone, unspeakably vast and hollow. There was no ceiling, just a void filled with pockets of crimson steam and rancid cold shadows, and the stench of burning stone was overpowering. Distant walls bled oozing water, and shattered crystals dotted the floor, glowing faintly like fallen stars. The ground buckled as he walked, as if it were made of wet wood rather than stone.

The tree stood before him. Massive, mighty, impossibly tall and wide. Its roots bore into the vagueness of the ceiling, whorls of shadow and clouds of rot. The black limbs were dead and gnarled like an old man’s withered arms, the branches like claws that tried to touch the ground even though they fell a full twenty paces short. The twisted plant was a hundred times bigger than any tree he’d ever seen, and its presence filled the air with a miasma, a stain of degeneration and decay. Every breath he drew in its presence filled his mouth with the taste of burning souls.

The Janus Tree. The tree of the Veil. It was an apocryphal tale, a fable made up by those few naysayers of the Church, back in the days when it wasn’t a capital offense to be such. Those stories said that the tree grew from where Corvinia’s blood had fallen, that it had grown with the Veil, had maybe even become its source over time.

It was all but impossible to determine where the tree ended and the ceiling began. Shadows oozed down like tentacles, and on the dark stone floor some thick substance gathered and coalesced, sludge-like sap with the consistency of tar.

He heard singing. A distant and mad whisper cut through the dark.