A Painful Letter to Those Who Download Pirated Novels

Dear Fans,

Yes, it seems strange to open such a letter with this salutation, but I can only conclude that if you are tempted to illegally download one of my books for free from any of an alarming number of websites now offering such a dishonorable service, then you must enjoy my novels.

I’m going to divide you into one of two groups. Please bear with me.

  • If you truly cannot afford the $2.99 for most of my novels, then please go ahead. While volunteering at (I think) Project Homeless Connect, I talked with a boy (I think he was 11 or 12 years old) who said he loved that the service offered books to take, but he wished there was more about elves and dwarves. I went and gave him a copy of At The Walls Of Galbrieth and would have given him the whole series if I had brought copies in my backpack. My then 8-year-old once begged me to give a homeless man (a poet we discovered) a copy of The Accidental Activist, after they had a wonderful conversation and the man had told him how much he enjoyed reading and writing.

 

  • If you can afford to buy my books, and I believe most of you can, I am not going to lecture you. I just want you to know that I poured years into each book, that I drove myself to write the highest quality possible, relentlessly edited and nurtured each book into existence. Just because someone is offering you something for free, doesn’t mean you should take it. That goes for music, movies and novels. Like so many artists, I am not wealthy. I am Mr. Average-American who works hard to put food on his family’s table and wonder if he will ever be able to retire. I am probably no different from you.

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So next time you see the advert for a free copy of someone’s novel, please take a moment to consider before you click and download. Go to Amazon or Barnes and Noble, Apple (ibooks), Smashwords, or wherever you purchase a novel and consider the 99c – $2.99 that will show respect for those who toiled to produce that work, those who keep producing the stories you enjoy.

And if you have already illegally downloaded a copy of one of my books and feel bad – I FORGIVE YOU. Perhaps consider buying a copy and gifting it to someone, whether it is one of my political novels to a disillusioned non-Trump supporter, or a young adult who loves a coming-of-age novel and would benefit from seeing the strength of true friendship.

Please reblog or send this post on to others to raise awareness of this issue. It is not as important as helping those who have suffered from earthquakes, fire, or ethnic cleansing, but it is another wrong that we can right.

Thank you,

Alon / elfwriter

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls of Galbrieth and five other novels in the Wycaan Master series, all released by Tourmaline Books. More information about Alon and his novels can be found here.

Download a free copy (offered with author’s consent!) of Alon’s new medieval fantasy novel as a publisher gauges interest and reader feedback.

 

 

 

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Kingfisher – Chapter 1

Below is the opening chapter to Kingfisher: Slave to Honor. If it grabs you, please download a FREE copy from Inkitt Publishers and read. Then do me a favor and leave an honest review. You are helping Inkitt decide if they want to invest in my novel and I thank you for helping.

Please note there is profanity in this chapter. It is meant for adult consumption. 

Alon

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Chapter 1

I have unleashed thousands of arrows on the battlefield and in training, but never shot from the swaying deck of a ship. My heavy ash bow creaks in anticipation as I draw back the bowstring. Peering along the arrow’s shaft, the feathered fletching grazing my cheek, I wait to see the whites of the pirates’ eyes. My target is a huge brute of a man waving a curved cutlass and braying for his ship to get close enough to our small stout Argosy trading vessel. I steady my feet. He must never board this ship.

 

“Blessed Lir. They be twice our crew in number,” a man wheezes next to me.

 

There are few fighters among this crew. Most are simple, warm-hearted sailors, and I have become attached to them as we cross the sea to the land of Cassia.

 

“Hold steady,” I say. “They won’t be as many when we cross blades.”

 

“Archers!” cries the captain, her speckled snowy-grey hair similar in color to the sails billowing above us, and her sun-dried skin a testimony to a life spent at sea. “Let the Easterner shoot first. Wait for my order.” Leaning close to my ear, she whispers. “A true aim will buoy my crew’s fragile morale.”

 

I nod. I have selected a dozen targets. “Let them hold their fire until I empty my quiver.”

 

“You won’t have long, my friend.”

 

“I don’t need…”

 

My bowstring sings as I release my first arrow. I do not wait to see the man collapse. Already a second arrow is nocked and released, and my mind enters a realm of detached clarity.

 

The pirate captain barks as he sees me. “The black bastard! Take him do–oooow!”

 

His voice ends in an abrupt squeal as my arrow pierces his throat and our crew cheers. My quiver is empty and the enemy pared down by twelve. I am irritated. I had fourteen arrows.

 

“Now,” I say.

 

“Fire!” the captain roars and a volley of black arrows arches up towards the sleek pirate ship.

 

After several volleys, there is a pregnant lull as the distance between the ships closes. Then the captain unsheathes a stout sword. “Prepare to be boarded. Follow The Six.”

 

The Six are huge men who serve as her loyal, permanent crew. They are all strong and bawdy, and completely devoted to her. I suspected at first that they were the reason why no drafted sailor questioned a woman being captain. But I was being disingenuous. She exudes respect, walking the deck with ease, commanding her crew with a stern, but fair hand. I hold her in high regard.

 

The cabin boy hovers near me and I smell piss. His eyes are wide and his face drips with beady sweat. “It’ll be okay,” I say, the father in me rising, and I pass him my bow and quiver. “Stay below. You have no place in this fight.”

 

He glances at the captain. She nods, but the tilt of her head suggests she does not appreciate someone else giving orders on her ship. I apologize. Taking charge is a deeply ingrained habit for I have led armies and ruled a country under my emperor, my Sun-Above-The-Mountains. But that life is long behind me and I must focus on the fight at hand.

 

There won’t be room to swing a broadsword on this small, and soon to be, chaotic deck. I draw my curved dirk, Throatslitter, embracing the cold ivory hilt. I carry many weapons but this is my favorite and most used. In my other hand is my battle sickle, sharp and hissing with anticipation as I flick it.

 

I see The Six spread across the starboard side of the ship. They appear calm while the men around them drip sweat. I study the pirate ship now looming before us, and plant my feet directly opposite where their crew is extending a gangplank. Our sailors move aside, most relieved to let me through.

 

The boats thud together and there is a cry from the other side. Someone has taken command, as half a dozen men throw grappling irons with ropes and swing across. A pirate scrambles along the gangplank, screaming an indistinguishable war cry. It stops abruptly as he blinks and stares up at me blocking his path to glory and plunder.

 

“Long way from home, yeh black devil,” he shouts, trying to sound defiant, but I detect a quiver in his voice. “Come all this way fer one final swim?”

 

I stare back, trying for impassive, and he blinks several times. Everyone watches as he swings his sword in a skewed arc, and I brush it aside with Throatslitter before detaching his neck with my sickle. His head rolls down and I hear it plop into the ocean. Blood fountains from his severed neck but, curiously, his body remains erect. I raise my right leg in a side swing kick and send it crashing down. As my foot returns to the narrow plank, I step forward … and the battle mist descends.

 

It is always this way. Once the fighting commences, my mind detaches. My movements are deeply ingrained from decades of relentless training and I need only focus on the techniques of my adversary.

 

I plow my way through a morass of fighting men, barely distinguishing friend from foe. But most of the pirates have boarded our ship and I return to fight aboard the Argosy. Then two members of The Six flank me and we become an organized wedge swelled by a grateful crew. The remaining pirates retreat to their ship and our men swarm across. I follow, but my battle fury has subsided and my interest is only to minimalize casualties on our side. Blood congeals on my clothes and skin. Not mine, I think, but cannot be sure.

 

I have seen the revenge meted upon the vanquished aggressors in countless battles. Men once cowering lash out at their routed attackers with extreme violence. Bones are broken, limbs slashed, and I turn from the carnage. Bodies are thrown overboard. Only the cook is spared and roughly dragged back to our ship. He had better not burn any food.

 

I lean against the railing near the pirate ship’s bow hearing the occasional clash of steel mingle with curses and pleas that gradually subside. The sun is high in the sky and, as I wipe my face on my sleeve, I sense danger. Turning, I see the contorted face of the first man I had shot, the one who had brayed for blood. His huge figure looms over me. The broken shaft of my arrow still protrudes from his shoulder and there is blood around his lips. He holds the other half of the arrow, waving the splintered edge in my face.

 

“Want your fucking arrow back? So sorry I broke it.” When I do not reply, he continues. “Thought one little needle would prick Big Rufus? Snapped it. Now I’m gonna snap your neck, you black devil.”

 

He begins to lunge, but stops when I do not raise my weapons.

 

“It’s over. You lost,” I say, keeping my voice flat. “There’s no one left fighting. Why die needlessly?”

 

He freezes. I suspect few are equal to him in physical stature and even fewer address him without fear.

 

“I’m not worried about dying. Pirating doesn’t offer itself as a long-term profession.”

 

I frown at his use of vocabulary. “You’re an educated man. I can hear it. Why are you doing this?”

 

He stares at me and one eye twitches. “There comes a point, black man, when you kill enough men, take enough women, that–”

 

“Who were you before this? What happened to you?”

The twitching increases and his chest heaves. He is losing control. “I was once an ambitious officer in a huge fucking army, following orders that haunt me every night. I–”

 

“We’ve walked the same path,” I say, now standing to face him. “It doesn’t need to end like this. We–”

 

“It ends this way! It always does.” Spittle foams at the corners of his mouth. “You can’t escape what ­–” He is staring at my eyes, through them, like he has a window into my head. “You’re haunted too. How do you keep…going?”

 

I glance around noting our crew standing and staring. This is absurd as no one moves to intervene. “I have people to live for. I still have a mission.”

 

“A woman?” He wipes spittle from his mouth with his torn sleeve. “She’s probably fucking some other bastard by now.”

 

“She’s dead. But we have sons and they are slaves. I must find and free them.”

 

He nods. “Yeah, makes sense.” Then there is a wave of relentless twitching and his shaggy head shudders. “Fuck ’em though. Fuck ’em all. You die now.”

 

“You don’t sound like you mean it. You want me to kill you.”

 

“I don’t fucking care either way. Look what I’ve become. It’s all that’s left.”

 

He raises a short-shafted axe and the sun catches it. I spin away and my battle sickle rises to block him. I would like to draw my sword to fight such a strong man, but it is long and I know that Throatslitter and the sickle are more effective in close quarters.

 

He advances and shows considerable agility for his size and the fact he is wounded, wielding the axe from hand to hand. When he sees I can repel him, he draws a second axe. I realize we have moved to the center of the ship and men from our crew make way, watching. It is surreal. No one grabs him or shoots him with an arrow. It feels like a final rite.

 

“Last chance,” I say. “It doesn’t have to end like­–”

 

“FUCK YOU!” he screams. “Fuck you for not being devoured, for not giving in, for surviving.”

 

His next swing, with his right hand, is erratic and instead of blocking him with my left, I shift inside and duck, letting the battle sickle in my right hand grab the axe allowing his own momentum to unbalance him. He staggers and I swing a round kick that sends him flying into the ropes that surround the edge of the ship. He doubles over and grunts. Then the tension from his weight on the ropes springs him back toward me. I crouch, the tip of my knife on the wooden deck, and then, with a cry, jump into the air. Throatslitter slashes up under his chin. Bright red blood spurts up to ignite in the harsh sunlight. He twists round and collapses back onto the rope.

 

I step forward and grab his matted hair, wrenching his head up to look at me. His nose is bloody and broken, and his eyes bulge.

 

“Fuck you,” he says, his voice a whisper, and I nod, accepting it as a sign of respect.

 

“Find peace,” I say as I crouch and link my left foot around both his legs. As I rise, I flick him over the side of the boat and watch his body hit the water and disappear.

 

The men cheer, but I have no enthusiasm for the victory. That man could one day be me. One day very soon.

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls Of Galbrieth, and five other Wycaan Master books all released by Tourmaline Books. The link above takes you to the Kindle versions. For all other eReaders, please click here.

Download a #FREE copy of Alon’s latest novel, Kingfisher: Slave to Honor, as publisher gauges interest – http://bit.ly/2sq72DG

 Kingfisher Cover

Happy Eragon Day!

It’s true! August 26 has been designated Eragon Day. I’m not sure who decides such things, but fourteen years ago, on this very day, Christopher Paolini realized Eragon, the first in an incredibly rich series that would turn a generation onto epic fantasy.

The four-book trilogy (every fan remembers the thrill at some point in the middle of the third book when they realized it wasn’t going to end and another 800 pages of Eragon would have to be written) provided a magically bonding experience for my family, and stands along with Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings in Shalev family history.

My sons and I devoured every book: pouring over every word, listening to the audio versions on vacation, and watching the (only!!!!) movie. And yes, as loyal fans, we loved the movie even if it was not the greatest. Come on Peter Jackson – work your magic here, sir!

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When Paolini released Brisingr, my then 10-year-old son stood defiantly at the front of the line in our local Borders (RIP), falling asleep on his feet literally as the clock approached midnight. I will never forget the lady who was working there, encouraging him to stay awake and hang on. At exactly midnight, she put a copy that she had hidden under the counter into his hands and whispered that he should buy that very copy. It was the only book in the store that Christopher Paolini had personally signed. Five minutes later, my son was fast asleep in the car clutching his autographed copy by his hero who was barely ten years older than him.

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My son holding his autographed copy at the midnight release… a priceless moment!

I wrote a while back that Paolini must be one of the most underrated authors and shared that he disproved a number of important assumptions:

1. The young generation will read 400-page novels if the material is gripping enough.

2. They will read rich descriptions, convoluted plots, and identify with characters that are deep, vulnerable, and profoundly human (or elf or dwarf).

3.  They will thrive on a high level of language.

4. Tolkien might still be king, but he has good company. Paolini is young. His level of craft is only going to improve and that is an exciting prospect.

I have to admit to selfish disappointment when Paolini decided to stop writing after Book 4 and go to college. He had every right to want that rite-of-passage experience and, as a loyal follower, I had no right to resent him that.

I owe Christopher Paolini a lot.

As my sons and I bonded over the Inheritance series, a seed was sown. We sat together to write our own epic fantasy novel. At The Walls Of Galbrieth went on to win the 2013 Eric Hoffer Book Award for YA and was a Grand Prize Finalist. Every summer for the next five years, I read the new manuscript to my sons while we camped under redwood trees that could have graced Alagaesia.

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Writing At The Walls Of Galbrieth – a family effort!

The uncompromising standards that these fierce young editors applied to our work was harvested from the lessons learned from reading the Inheritance Series. Earlier this month, I took my boys (now 18 & 14 and towering over me) on our annual camping trip. I read them the first 150+ pages of Kingfisher: Slave to Honor (minus a few adult scenes) and their edits were sharp and erudite. I am extremely proud of them (I know, I am totally objective!).

Summer 2015 Reading Book 6

Reading Book 6 in the summer of 2015. End of an era.

So Christopher, if by any chance you ever read this: Thank you, as a reader, a fan, and a father. How about Book 5?

While on the topic of Kingfisher: Slave to Honor, you can help me with a publisher (Inkitt) who is interested in the book. Please go to http://bit.ly/2ttpqt9 and download for FREE, this new medieval fantasy novel. The publisher is gauging interest by analyzing how much you read and by your honest review.

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Thank you for your support. Who knows, maybe Peter Jackson will one day make a movie of it because of your help. A boy can dream, no?  

Happy Eragon Day!

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls of Galbrieth and five other novels all released by Tourmaline Books. Through August, all ebooks are 99 cents each.

Downloaded your #FREE copy of Kingfisher: Slave to Honor – http://bit.ly/2ttpqt9 – the new magical realism novel by award-winning Alon Shalev? Publisher gauging interest by analytics including how much read and your honest review.

More about the author at alonshalev.com.

Summer Reading Binge – August Only!

It’s that time of year again: Tourmaline Books has reduced the entire Wycaan Master series to just $0.99 for each book throughout August.

This a great time to introduce a young person to Seanchai and his friends. I wrote these books for my sons who were 11 and 8 when the first came out. They were 16 and 13 when the final book was published.

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This is how it all began – deep in a redwood forest in 2011.

Summer 2015 Reading Book 6

Reading Book 6 in the summer of 2015. End of an era.

While At The Walls Of Galbrieth won the Young Adult category of the Eric Hoffer Book Award, I am not sure what proportion of readers are in the 11-18 age range. Perhaps they are less likely to interact with an author on social media. Still, I am delighted every time I hear of a teen who has enjoyed the series.

Please click on the book cover to buy your 99c copy of each book and, if I might request, please leave a review on Amazon when you finish. It’s a huge help for me.

Thank you for your support. Enjoy the summer.
Alon

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The New Publishing Model

Last week, I requested that you download a FREE copy  of my latest novel. First, a big Thank You to those who did and, if you have not yet, please consider doing so. 

Kingfisher: Slave To Honor – Free Novel by Alon Shalev

Given that many of my audience read Young Adult material, I should have pointed out that this was definitely written for adults. I apologize to those who were offended and thank you for reaching out and sharing in such a constructive way.

I have also received questions about why this company and how they work. Inkitt, the publishing house, does not work like a traditional publishing house. The staff are young tech people, who are not looking for a story that resonates with a particular staff member, rather they judge a book’s potential using a complex set of algorithms.

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They are interested in how long it takes to download a book, how quickly you start to read it, how far you get, and what review you give. They ask questions about what price you would be willing to pay and other analytics that I am unaware of.  

As the author, I have my own analytics page, where they show me  much of what I mention above. I can see how many chapters have being read, how many copies are downloaded, and the reviews are public. I have a bar which shows the progress in terms of data they have collected that will enable them to make a decision. I am about one-third of the way there (so please feel free to help – download, read, review).

I find the process fascinating. In the 15 years that I have been writing, I have reached out to agents, imagined the groaning “slush pile” table in a New York office (I know it is mainly electronic now and hear the trees sigh with relief). I imagine agents and publishers dining in Manhattan over power lunches, and so much more.

'Oh yes we're very proud of him. He's in publishing you know!'

While this might be the romance of the industry that agents and publishers want to perpetuate, I suspect the reality is closer to what Inkitt is doing. There are sharp business people poring over industry projections and statistics, who truly make the decision, and it is not because they fell in love with the novel’s protagonist.  

The publishing industry has been forced by the change in market to hunker down and avoid risk. Their behaviors, I suspect, are more akin to other profit-driven companies, and they use the emerging technologies to help them make strong decisions.

In a sense, this is what new companies like Inkitt are doing, the difference being that as part of the generation who grew up in the technology age, they see no shame in embracing it publicly. 

It will be interesting to see how it plays out. Thank you, as always for your support, Please help me stay in the game – download, read, and review.

Thank you,

Alon

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ALON SHALEV
At The Walls Of Galbrieth, Wycaan Master Book 1, 2013 Eric Hoffer Book Award Winner – YA Category.

Learn more about the Wycaan Master series at http://www.alonshalev.com/

A Birthday Wish

Dear Friends,

Today is my birthday. I guess we still celebrate in our 50’s, right? My birthday didn’t stop me firing up the computer and Keurig at 7.30am and getting in some writing at the quietest part of my day. Guess it’s in my DNA. 

I’m a lucky man. Blessed with a wonderful family, an inspiring job and (healing knee aside) good health. But, if you have a few minutes to to give me a gift, and it’s your time not money I want, here is how you can help me get the publishing contract I am chasing. 

As you know, Inkitt, a publisher, has taken an interest in my latest manuscript – an edgy magical realism novel. They are offering free downloadable copies and I request that you take a minute to click into the website and download a copy today.

Kingfisher: Slave To Honor – Free Novel by Alon Shalev

They have a complex set of algorithms that will help them decide whether to sign me which includes how it takes you to read the novel and they measure what pages you are on. If you get through the book, then a review is critical. Please be honest – I never want someone to write something they don’t believe.

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Thank you for your support. This is a very exciting opportunity for me and a publishing contract would make a mighty fine birthday gift!

The idea of helping struggling artists resonate more these days, so if you still have a bit of time, please help another author realize his/her dreams:

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Thank you, as always for your support,

Alon

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ALON SHALEV
At The Walls Of Galbrieth, Wycaan Master Book 1, 2013 Eric Hoffer Book Award Winner – YA Category.

Learn more about the Wycaan Master series at http://www.alonshalev.com/

A Son’s Journey Begins…

It’s a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.

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Not my usual elfwriter blog post, but…

In a few precious months, my oldest son will graduate high school and leave home. Sure, I could tell you with pride that he will participate in a social justice gap year program prior to going to university, but for the moment, I am just stuck on the idea that he is leaving home. A car advert – father watches son drive very nice car away from the home to… – had me in tears on an airplane.

My son recently read a book that intrigued him and he could not put down. Then he asked if I would buy him a hardcover copy that he could take with him, perhaps share with friends, or reread when he feels the need.

In case you are wondering, the book is called Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon’s Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart by Dr. James Doty, and this got me thinking. All his life I have tried to instill a desire in my son to read. Of course, the more I pushed, the more he rebelled … just like when his darn father was as a kid. But there were times when we bonded over books.

I remember Christopher Paolini’s Inheritance series, as we stood in line at midnight in Borders waiting for the next book, and the delight when the bookseller, seeing him literally falling asleep on his feet as he swayed and leaned against me, snuck the only autographed copy into his hands. He sleepily declared he would stay up all night reading it, before falling asleep in the car and then in his bed, tightly hugging the book.

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My son holding his autographed copy.

Then there were the Harry Potter series, a rite-of-passage for many parents and children. I am thrilled that we were a family during this exciting moment in time.

And, of course, there was his crucial role in the writing of the Wycaan Master series. He was the inspiration that led me to write the series and for six summers he listened and offered sound feedback around the campfire in the ancient redwood forests.

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Writing the 1st novel – a family effort!

Summer 2015 Reading Book 6

Reading Book 6 in the summer of 2015. End of an era.

But his request is not about the books that were, but the books that are and will be. So I am asking for your help: what are the books that influenced and guided you when you left your parents’ home?

Here are a few from my time at college that I am thinking of including:

  1. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance – Robert Persig.
  2. The Tao of Poo – Benjamin Hoff
  3. Jonathan Livingston Seagull – Richard Bach.
  4. Iron John – Robert Bly.

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I am particularly interested in books for a young man, but am happy to corollate a list that is more specific for young women as well. Please share the books that influenced you when you were that age in the comments below.

Thank you,

An Apprehensive Father.

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Alon Shalev is the author of the 2013 Eric Hoffer YA Book Award winner, At The Walls of Galbrieth, and five other Wycaan Master books all released by Tourmaline Books. The link above takes you to the Kindle versions. For all other eReaders, please click here.

More at http://www.alonshalev.com and on Twitter (@elfwriter).