Stone Serpent Cover Art Complete!

The cover art for Stone Serpent is officially complete! Liam Reynold’s skill in oil painting is truly undeniable in capturing the moment where Ta (the protagonist) opens the forbidden underground chamber to reveal his nemesis.

 

The following excerpt is from Stone Serpent Chapter 17.

“Sarakand looked different from the sky. Its plazas and squares exploded outward in weaves and blossoms of color framed by bustling thoroughfares that faded into dark spiderwebs of side streets and alleyways. The glistening spires of the former Royal Palace and the Academy’s high shimmering dome, soared over the monotonous expanses of mudbrick tenements separated from the manors of the wealthy by walled gardens of glistening green. Then there were the sun-bleached lines of the city walls and the harbor where boats scudded back and forth like little black beetles against a limitless blue horizon.

Hong stood above it all. Surveying viscounts and beggars from his rickety throne of sun washed timbers. Sweat dripped into his squinting eyes, crisscrossing his sunburnt skin in long winding rivers. A king with a crown of matted black hair, with a cheap hammer for a scepter.

“Oi, crawler! Quit your ogling and put your back into it!”

Standing on the slender walkway, arms akimbo and with all the charisma of an undressed block of sandstone, was Atesh the foreman. Wretched was the king to have him in his retinue.

Hong exhaled, averting his gaze from the spreading expanse of rooftops, conscious once more of the hammer in his hand, the chisel in his belt, and the empty gulfs of space behind and beneath him.

It was not his city anyway.

Weariness gripped his aching wrists as he returned to work, the chisel’s impact sending up fine plumes of stone dust.

Behind him, the treadmill crane rumbled as it hauled the latest in an endless succession of loads to the pinnacle of the ascending tower that would one-day crown Sarakand’s Citadel. In the past three months, Hong had seen it rise to a dizzying height that made the men in the courtyard resemble children’s toys.

He did not envy poor old Ying, whose legs drew up every block the masons added to the rising structure. Those legs, born of Kwang’s foothills, carried the whole crew.

Hong’s chisel rang out in unison with Maz’s on his right, joining with the drum of their hammers, though the Sarakand native, twitching from quickleaf withdrawal, would never acknowledge harmony with an outlander. Hong had heard him complain to Atesh more than once. Despite having worked side by side for days, they had yet to exchange a single word.

The discordant melody circled the tower’s half-formed belvedere, quarried stones trimmed and smoothed by a circular chorus of chisels and hammers. It droned for hours, interrupted only by the whistling of the wind that swept the precarious walkways. Aching arms and backs played the same monotonous rhythm over creaking scaffolding until the sun sank low, throwing wine stains over the sandstone.

At last, the hollow trumpet sounded from below, the sound echoing among the city’s domes and spires, to signal that the day was done. Atesh’s masters would not pay for the lamp oil to allow work to continue at night, nor would the pool of workers be so plentiful if they did.

Hong downed tools and rose to his feet, clinging to the stonework as the bones in his legs cracked, cramped muscles straining as he took his first steps. There were no railings up here and the only way to work and survive in the constantly blowing wind was to remain on one’s knees for hours on end. It was a hard lesson that some didn’t live long enough to learn.

Harsh gusts whistled in his ears, making him cling tighter to the stonework as he edged along the walkway. Three months in and he still wasn’t used to it. Never, not in the most backbreaking harvest of his life, had farm labor been this hard. The sights and smells of the rice paddy, thronged with mud-covered friends and neighbors, were more infinitely more wholesome than rickety scaffolding loaded with strangers. Surely the Goddess had never meant for Her children to toil in this dawn to dusk village in a foreign sky, but it was the least of many abominations.

Keeping his eyes on the curving line of masonry, he followed Maz toward the crane. He crept forward, not daring to move any faster as the boards creaked under his hesitant steps.

How could Maz walk so confidently? Like he was strolling down a village lane.

A sudden gust whipped at his tunic and he muttered a hasty prayer to the Lady of the Rice Harvest.

The breeze was interrupted by a loud crack. Before Hong could even think, the scaffolding, worn smooth by days of plodding feet, gave way.

His heart froze, suspended in a gulf of nothingness that clawed greedily at his ankles. The weight of his body rested on whitening knuckles, weakened by hours of toil.

The splintered boards echoed in space as they fell down and down.

Blurred shapes swirled above him. He heard voices shouting, but couldn’t make out the words over the wind whistling in his ears.

His fingers faltered. This was the end.

Hong shut his eyes as his panicked heart thundered, silently begging Yara for forgiveness and praying for the Goddess to keep her and Ming and Chan…

Suddenly there were hands on his straining arms. He could hear cursing over the racing of his own blood as he was pulled upward.

He was looking into Maz’s scowling red face and that of a second laborer whose name he couldn’t remember.

They dragged him over the creaking boards, depositing him on the platform.

The next thing he heard was Atesh’s barking voice.

“Watch your bloody footing, idiot!”

Hong was aware of little else until his feet rested firmly upon the Goddess’s earth.”

Release date coming soon! Stay tuned!

Stone Serpent Excerpt and Art Update

The cover art for Stone Serpent is nearly complete, so I want to give you a preview of the amazing work that Liam Reynolds has done. We’re still aiming for an early May release for my third fantasy novel.

 

Chapter 1 of Stone Serpent begins with the following scene.

“Crack!

The sound of the rattan ripped through the spreading cloud of dust kicked up from the tournament ground. Like the shouts and gasps of the crowd, their shadowed faces squinting below the eaves of the surrounding huts, it was drowned out by the roaring of Ta’s own blood; thundering in his ears through a clinging haze of sweat. Only the pain, shooting up his forearm from the shock of impact, cut through his carefully erected wall of concentration.

Wrist loose...like a fisher catches a fish…

His old man’s lessons echoed faintly beneath the booming of his pulse. He only remembered to relax his grip at the last second before his father’s riposte came like a bolt from the blue.

Fighting down the fatal instinct to flinch, he simultaneously lifted the bo and took a defensive half-step back.

His old man wasn’t going easy. Not after seasons’ worth of practice.

No sooner had Ta brought the bo up to parry the incoming stroke, it changed direction; by some inexplicable sleight of hand, the steep angle flattened and whipped toward his ear.

Ta shifted his stance, but the blow caught him before he could move his arms further than the length of a rice grain.

Exploding stars turned the sky yellow as he pitched on his back in the dirt. Only then, ears ringing from the roar of the crowd, feeling like a blacksmith’s hammer to the head, did he realize his mistake.

Hands before feet…always hands before feet.

His throat convulsed as he sucked dusty air into his empty lungs. Voices pounding at his throbbing skull, he fought back tears. He was nearly a grown man. It would not do to weep boyish tears before the whole village.

Even in defeat, he was his father’s son.

Presently, that strong, familiar hand, scarred and smelling of earth, found Ta’s own through the dust and noise. Its grip was gentle, drawing him effortlessly to his feet, the one sure thing as the world spun in a blur of browns and greens.

Rows of faces swam into focus under the blue canopy of sky surmounting the circle of hard-packed dirt before the shrine. Sul, the village priest, was a solitary sentinel of gleaming white, his expression hard as the Goddess’s jade statue, brought from its sanctuary so that the Lady of the Rice Harvest could view those fighting for Her favor. She and Her priest were the only ones not on their feet shouting and cheering.

Given that She was the only woman permitted to watch the bouts, it was strange that She wasn’t more excited.

These idle thoughts were dispelled by more faces. Ta was prepared for the happiness that showed in so many pairs of eyes – happiness at seeing the outcast ‘stick boy’ beaten down, even by his own father whom most of them liked even less.

Lu was among the few who bore expressions of concern. The thick-set, black-haired lad was badly bruised from the earlier contests and dried blood encrusted his broad forehead. But there was awe in his jubilant eyes. Awe that his friend had kept his feet so long, making it to the rounds reserved for men. It was rare for boys to make it so far and still rarer for them to withstand the first blow when they did. It had taken two strokes from a master to bring Ta down. That was more than respectable. Had Ta been anyone but his father’s son, every boy in the village would be cheering him, and not beseeching the ancestors for his injury and humiliation. But Lu’s approval was enough, shining through in one of his typical silly grins.

Ta knew to take the good with the bad; he’d had little choice in the matter.

Shaken, head ringing like a temple bell, his skin covered in a leopard’s patchwork of bruises earned in the course of seven rounds of stick fighting, Ta peered into his father’s dark eyes. The pride in those deep wells flowed into him and his pain fled along with all sense of loss.

In that moment, Ta felt like a man.

He knew his strength. He knew his weakness. He had made a mistake, but he would get better. His hand would strike with the speed of a serpent. Friends and foes alike would respect him.

It was not over. His father had more men to fight before the Day of the Ancestors was done and the lanterns could be lit. Vengeful men who hated him.

Stooping, Ta picked up the fallen rattan and held it high toward the onlooking heavens as the noise of the crowd died away. In that moment, standing by his victorious father’s side, he was a warrior. He was free of the fields and the mud. His every dream had come true.”

More updates soon!

Stone Serpent Update

Hello everyone, I’m happy to say that the final draft of my upcoming fantasy novel, Stone Serpent, is finally complete! It was a lot of work and I’m eternally grateful to my beta-readers, Jeff Pettis and Marian Thorpe, for their expertise and advice. Artist Liam Reynolds is currently working on the art for Stone Serpent, and recently completed some outstanding hand-painted book cover art for the upcoming re-release of the two Falhorne series novels.

I also wish to share the Stone Serpent Map which details Kenetchi and the Great Rift, the ancient and lore-steeped setting for the novel.

Finally, we have a brief excerpt from Stone Serpent - Chapter 6 to whet your appetite for this epic dark fantasy adventure.

“…The light shone from a small chamber with a vaulted roof. It was devoid of dust, having been sealed for what must have been centuries. An otherworldly marvel cast its shadow over Ta. Jeweled eyes shone terribly, drawing him across the threshold until he stood gazing up at its gloriously inhuman countenance.

The statue was black marble, its dark shining surface shot through with twisted green veins that glinted weirdly in the low light. It was dressed in the robes of a priest, the long, hooded garment covering its body from neck to floor – but its head was exposed, hairless, and covered in cold scales. Its wide mouth hung open and long fangs shimmered as though they were about to close about a victim’s neck. The figure’s clawed hands were extended, grasping at nothing. The glassy orbs of cold predatory eyes were the source of the silver light illuminating that horrible crypt.

Ta could not look away, enthralled by the unblinking stare of this humanoid serpent.

He could see things in those crystalline eyes: vast deserts and high mountains stark below red, wispy clouds. There were sky-flung monoliths between which wove processions of hooded figures, their outlines hideously inhuman. He beheld worlds beyond worlds, a dark universe terrible with secrets no man was meant to know and secured in unfathomable depths of space where he was never meant to journey.

In that stony gaze, he saw the truth that the skies had hidden, the source of the Master’s power and legendary skill. In embracing that which had fallen from Heaven, Shang had embraced forbidden knowledge and used it to cement his greatness for all time.

Ta did not dare to breathe as he reached for those glowing orbs, the enigmatic ‘Sky Rocks’ that were the source of everything. How could any mortal resist their call? It was the deepest feeling. The most primal instinct.

They would be his and his alone.

But as his fingers closed upon this fabulous treasure, he felt a presence, spying him across untold leagues of nothingness, but with the power to track his every movement. There was an expectation, an inhuman will questing relentlessly for a way in, untold centuries spent waiting at a locked door, keeping vigil for the key bearer.

Ta was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been, but the terror was buried deep, pulsing numbly in the chill void as his steady fingertips made contact with the frozen orb in the statue’s face.

Then it blinked at him…”

Stone Serpent, along with the re-released Falhorne novels, will be available in early May 2026.

 

Announcements 2026

HAPPY BELATED NEW YEAR!

2026 is shaping up to be an eventful year for me already. 

1) NEW NOVEL

Stone Serpent, the first instalment in The Cataclysm Series, is complete and currently being edited. My third published novel explores the ancient subcontinent of Kenetchi as it is torn apart by an interdimensional invasion. Ta, the farmer's son, is forced to confront an alien evil not seen for thousands of years - but which he inadvertently released.

Release date TBA but it will be in early spring.

2) FALHORNE RE-RELEASE 

I'm pleased to announce that the entire Falhorne dark fantasy epic following Tagus's quest to stop an undead invasion of his homeland, originally released in 2022, will be re-issued this coming spring. United by a shared disdain for AI art, I've teamed up with local Guelph artist Liam Reynolds to create hand-painted cover art for the new edition which will be available in hardback, paperback and e-book formats.

Liam has graciously agreed to apply his artistic talents to the cover of Stone Serpent as well, which will be released simultaneously.

3) GAME DESIGN   

Since 2024 I've been working on a dark fantasy table top roleplaying game (TTRPG) set in the world of my novels. While a lot of work remains to be done, sufficient progress has been made to render this synopsis: The ancient wards have failed across the continent of Nazor, unleashing dark forces that threaten to consume the entire World of Marr. Mystic ignorance and imperial hubris have combined to open doors sealed since the dawn of time, allowing hordes of demons to enter the Mortal Plane. As civilization collapses under the onslaught, the gods turn to the one army that will not yield in the face of the infernal - the dead.

    

Author Spotlight

Shoutout to canadianindieauthors.substack.com for spotlighting me and my work!

https://canadianindieauthors.substack.com/p/author-spotlight-tristan-dineen 

 

My Latest Interview

Hello all! Here's my latest interview with allauthor.com. For those of you who want to know what makes me tick as a fantasy writer!

https://allauthor.com/interview/imperator60/ 

 

Creating Dark Realms - A Rampaging Author of Dark Fantasy

By Tristan Dineen 

I am an independent author of dark fantasy with a complete two novel series to my name and a second series in production. While my original muse was a boring job with too many office hours, I am happy to say that my writing has grown beyond those humble beginnings and has taken on a new and rampaging life.

I was drawn to the genre of darker, grittier fantasy because it more closely mirrored the medieval European history I’d been interested in while growing up. The more you learn about history, the less you believe in fairy tales about simple morality and clear divisions between good and evil. I wanted my fantasy world to be just as complex and believable as Medieval Europe or the Ancient Mediterranean. Good guys and bad guys still exist, but they live in a world governed by overarching political and economic forces that shape behavior and are far more complicated characters than a writer like Tolkien would allow. It follows that dark fantasy allows an author to explore real world themes to a greater extent than traditional fantasy.

The Falhorne series (begun with Falhorne: The World is Burning and concluded with Falhorne: Dark Dawn) follows the quest of Tagus, who is among the last of the Falhorne: an ancient order of warriors dedicated to the Elder Gods and to the protection of the persecuted Old Believers. The Old Believers, along with their Falhorne protectors, are pariahs in the eyes of Church and State. When catastrophe engulfs his community, Tagus must risk all in order to save the people he loves from destruction. His journey will take him far from home and into the darkness of his own past, as he confronts an evil deeper than his wildest fears.

Vinos, Tagus’s homeland, is much like Renaissance Italy, and, like Italy, was born out of a fallen empire similar to Rome. It has a largely feudal economy but that is beginning to change due to the demand for “satincane” in the textile mills of Tarn, a rising empire to the north. The profits from this trade have allowed the reigning Prince of Vinos to centralize political power and the crackdown on the Old Believers is not only due to their refusal to follow the established state religion but also because the prince wants slaves for the plantations producing satincane for export. There are very real parallels to actual history here and I believe it makes the fantasy world I’ve created, and the struggles of its people, more believable.

In the real world, people who challenge oppressive systems of power do not have access to secret arsenals of space-age weapons technology or magic so powerful that it negates any advantages their enemies have. Real world heroes are almost always outgunned and lack anything close to the resources their powerful enemies possess. Real world heroes die. Real world heroes experience loss. While fantasy worlds will always offer advantages that the real world does not give, I wanted to emphasize the challenges that someone resisting entrenched power structures must face. It makes the hero’s eventual triumph, or their mere survival, all the more heroic.

What little stability Tagus enjoys in his life collapses very early in the story, and, for the first time, he must determine his own path with the help of unexpected friends and allies. While he struggles to uphold his honor as one of the Falhorne warriors and defend the Old Believers, he is confronted by situations that force him to confront the very core of who he is. The political and economic forces of Vinos were not made to benefit someone like Tagus and he must struggle to make his way in the world; striving toward his goals against crushing odds. It could not be any other way for someone in his circumstances.

Vinos resembles 16^th Century Europe. Early Modern Europe was full of religious persecution as states like Spain, France and England centralized royal authority and defined themselves in political and religious terms. Vinos and the wider region are undergoing a similar process with similarly bloody results: whole groups are politically marginalized, religiously persecuted and economically exploited because they do not fit into the new order of things. Old Believers are killed, enslaved, forced into slums or driven into exile. Tagus (and the various characters aiding him on his quest) is resisting this brutality while at the same time trying to save the world from destruction at the hands of a much deeper evil.

This element of my world building was inspired by the German playwright Bertolt Brecht, who set his anti-war play Mother Courage and Her Children in the 17^th Century, although he was really trying to warn people about the coming outbreak of World War II. He did this because he knew that his audience would be biased if he set his story in the 20^th Century and that he would be more likely to get his message across if he placed his characters in a different time period. Fantasy worlds are similar in that they allow us to communicate real world themes in a setting removed from the real world, making them easier for people of different backgrounds and politics to accept.

Overall, I believe I’ve found my niche in merging elements of fantasy, horror and historical fiction. I have started work on a new series (two novels planned) that will be set in a very different part of the same fantasy world as the Falhorne books. Instead of Renaissance Italy, this region is more like Medieval South Asia, but the main character is similarly confronted by a nightmare power that is not of this world – and which may devour it if not stopped.

Please follow my author blog for more details and release dates.