One last preview for THE GRAY KINGS

Here, we check in on Lock Synclaire as he juggles bandits along with unresolved anger from his prior experiences in Graylands….

---

There was a time when the thought of slaying another, even in defense, made Lock Synclaire sick to his stomach. Although he learned to use it, and never ruled out the possibility he might need to, the idea of striking another down with his sword seemed a far-off and foreign concept left to daydreams and imagination. The first time he did wind up killing someone—a thief who charged at his brother with a knife—the act haunted him for weeks after.

Those days seemed a long time ago now as he blocked an attack from the red-cloaked bandit. Steel clashed against steel with a ring that sounded even louder amidst the snow-covered courtyard. He got a good look at his foe’s chapped face before countering with a slash to the midsection. The bandit’s eyes bulged when the blade cut open his belly, and he let out a surprised gurgle as he crumbled to the ground.

Lock wasted no time or thought for his fallen opponent and pressed on. They called themselves the Crimson Raven—denoted by their red cloaks—and had been marauding since the end of summer. They started further north but were making their way south, concentrating on smaller villages the local militias wouldn’t bother defending. Lock and his companions were on their way back to Aster, and he was unwilling to let innocent people be victimized.

He’d seen enough of that already.

“Lockhart!”

He turned at Troa’s voice to see three more Ravens charging. The first was a lanky fellow he cut down with ease, but the second was a hulking brute armed with an axe. He blocked the heavy weapon and nearly slipped in the snow under its weight. The strain made his abdomen flare in pain, causing him to grunt. The Raven interpreted it as weakness and snarled something—close enough to smell his foul breath—in a language he didn’t understand.

Lock held his ground and used the Raven’s momentum against him. He shoved the axe blade away, throwing his enemy off balance, and drove his sword into the man’s side. The Raven bowled over and let out an ugly retch. As he sank to his knees, Lock pulled the weapon he’d named Catharsis and tore it out, nearly cleaving the man in two.

Blood sprayed onto the snow, which was quickly becoming an ugly mess of gore, mud and slush that looked almost black in the afternoon light. Fresh snow fell slowly from the gray sky with little breeze, giving the temple and surrounding woods a surreal stillness in contrast to the violence. Lock almost wished for a blizzard. A storm would’ve been more appropriate for such a raid.

He had barely a moment to take in his latest kill, when the third attacker leapt onto him from behind. Acting on instinct, he threw his head back and felt it crack into something soft. A voice grunted, and he threw his latest foe over his shoulder to the ground and drove Catharsis down without thinking. The woman appeared feral with her raging eyes and bloodied nose, and she snarled like a beast as she died.

Looking at the lifeless body at his feet, an image of that first thief he killed flashed into his memory. It had only been that past summer, yet felt like ages ago. How many more bodies had he left in his wake since?

He forced the thoughts aside to see Troa make quick work of the remaining bandits. Being Seria’s twin brother, he shared many of her features. Unlike his sister, however, he exuded only a cold exterior that matched his surroundings. His hair tied in a tight tail and face stern, he moved from Raven to Raven with a look of contempt and frustration in his eyes as he cut them down with his rapier.

“Don’t go too far ahead,” he said when the last one fell. “Stay close.”

“I saw their leader. Nico. He ran into the temple.”

Troa’s eyes narrowed, and his eyebrow twitched slightly. “You’re sure it was him?”

“Yes. He was with the woman they called Cobra Zoe.”

“Just because you saw someone with that cobra woman doesn’t mean—”

“They’re getting away! We can finish this.”

“We don’t know how many more there are,” he said—not yelling, but firm. “Even poor fighters can overwhelm with numbers, and no one knows what this Nico even looks like. Come, Seria and Jameson are on the other side of the temple. We should reconvene with them before we proceed.”

Lock frowned and looked at the shadowy structure the Ravens had claimed as their lair. He didn’t know who or what the temple was dedicated to—one of the Fallen Gods, he assumed—but the surrounding trees overwhelmed it. Younger ones pushed older ones down, and dying branches covered the stone structure like a tangled net. It sat nestled deep within the woods, seeming like the haunted edifice one might find in a fairy tale.

Although he understood Troa’s warning, he didn’t like waiting. While they took this side, Seria and Rieko attacked the other. They had caught the Crimson Raven off guard and made short work of the first wave. If there were more waiting inside, he believed giving them a chance to regroup or escape was an error.

“If Nico gets away, they’ll just attack someone else.”

Troa met him with a cold glare. His tone was slow and detached, like a teacher dealing with a stubborn student: “We are not exterminators, Lockhart, nor are we law enforcement. If we’ve crippled the Crimson Raven enough to drive them into retreat, then we are done. They will not trouble the villagers again. That is our only concern here.”

Somewhere close, Seria called out her brother’s name. Without another word, Troa went to find her and motioned him to follow. Lock grimaced and turned his attention back to the temple where he’d seen Nico flee with Cobra Zoe. The Crimson Raven were just thugs, yes, and if only four fighters could send them scattering to the woods, they probably wouldn’t be much of a threat to anyone else.

But it felt wrong. People like that didn’t just accept defeat and walk away. They licked their wounds so they could come back and do more damage later. If Nico escaped, he would recruit more. Lock wanted to cut off the proverbial snake’s head.

Gripping Catharsis tight, he went on. He passed the temple’s foyer, bracing himself for any attack, and found a dingy, empty chamber with a dying bonfire in the center. Cooking food had been left to burn, and there were clothes and other knick-knacks scattered about the floor. As suspected, those of the Crimson Raven that didn’t rush out to fight chose to flee.

An archway to the left revealed a stairway leading to darkness—presumably the temple’s catacombs—but another on the right led outside. There, he came upon a balcony overlooking the frozen river behind the temple. It wound through the tight woods like a scar amidst thick hair. The ice looked as dark as charcoal, with white cracks like lightning bolts stretching from one end to the other. It appeared thick, but Lock could just make out the motion of water underneath.

Crossing the river, he spotted a pair of red cloaks. They argued as they traversed the ice, trying to move fast without slipping. The woman was tall and lean with short, scruffy hair. Even from a distance, Lock saw the tattoo of a snake on her face, denoting her as Cobra Zoe—the right-hand of the gang. Which should make the man with her the leader himself.

“Crimson Raven!” he shouted as he hopped over the railing. “Our battle isn’t finished!”

The two stopped and greeted him with sneers. Nico was a large, brutish man of heavy muscle and thinning, scraggly hair. Despite the cold weather, he wore a sleeveless tunic, revealing muscular arms marked with scars and tattoos. Cobra Zoe looked at Lock with disdain, but Nico regarded him with hate.

“Piss on you, pretty boy!” she shouted. “You’ll get yours! The Crimson Raven doesn’t forget!”

Lock approached, ignoring the heavy crack of ice that echoed as he walked, and held Catharsis up. “That’s very intimidating from a distance,” he said. “I’ll surely be kept awake tonight remembering your threats … shouted as you fled with your tails tucked between your legs.”

“Enough of this!” Nico barked. “I’m gonna break this bastard in half!”

“Leave it alone!” Zoe said. “We can finish it later!”

He ignored her and strode back across the river with his broadsword drawn. A dark satisfaction came to Lock then—validated that letting them escape would accomplish nothing, just as he thought.

Despite his partner’s protests, Nico charged with a wide swing aiming for the head. Lock dodged with ease, along with the follow-up attack. Watching his opponent’s movements and the strain in his thick arms, Lock saw the broadsword was heavy and unwieldy. If the blade found its mark, it would easily shatter his body—or the ice they stood on—but such a weapon needed finesse as much as strength. Nico may have possessed the latter, but he lacked the former.

He slashed at the Raven leader’s leg and made him stumble. Seeing an opening, he thrust Catharsis at the chest, but Nico proved faster than expected. He deflected the blow and met him with a stiff ram of the shoulder.

Lock felt the air rush out of him as he stumbled back and slipped on the ice. He brought his sword up on instinct and blocked the heavy blade. Nico loomed over him with veins bulging in his forehead, eyes blazing, and a mad grin revealing crooked teeth.

“Not so big now, eh, pretty boy?” Nico hissed. “I ain’t afraid of a little cold. Someone shoulda told you about Graylands winters: they bite!”

He laughed, and Lock heard the rumble of ice cracking beneath him. If Nico couldn’t chop him down, he was content to send him into the freezing water below. He strained against the Raven leader’s weight, and his abdomen flared in pain from the effort. It reminded him of that past summer.

… the Jackal standing over him … laughing …

Lock used his opponent’s momentum against him. He allowed himself to slide on the ice, slipping out from under Nico’s weight. The Raven leader stumbled forward and was unable to defend against the slashes at his legs. He grunted in pain as the back of his knees cut open, and he collapsed onto the river’s frozen surface.

Wasting no time, Lock got to his feet and held Catharsis to the back of his neck. He paused to make sure Cobra Zoe wasn’t rushing to her leader’s aid, but she was nowhere to be found. No honor among thieves, it seemed.

“Enjoy this while you can, pup,” his enemy growled. “Once Nico finds out about this …”

Lock hesitated. “Excuse me?”

He turned to him with a smug smirk. “The boss don’t play around with wannabe heroes like you. Oh, no … you better believe Nico is gonna make an example outta you. You an’ that skunk-haired bitch up in—”

“Wait. You’re not Nico?”

The man let out a mocking cackle. “Nico ain’t here, you ass! Name’s Moss. But don’t you worry. Once Zoe gets word out, you better believe he’s gonna wanna meet you, pretty boy. Oh, yeah. And when he does, Nico’s gonna—”

Lock didn’t bother listening to the rest. Whatever satisfaction he felt from the battle and victory faded in an instant. He cut Moss’s head from his shoulders with a swift swing of his sword and felt emptiness inside as the dead Raven’s head bounced and slid across the icy surface, leaving a trail of blood.

There was a time when swordplay was just a hobby to Lock. There was also a time when the idea of killing in combat made him ill. It took less than a year in Graylands to stamp that out of him.

---

THE GRAY KINGS releases June 9th

You can pre-order it though links HERE
Paperback and itch.io will be available on day of release.

Be sure to also check out the previous volumes of GRAYLANDS if you haven’t already

Links can be found HERE and itch.io

Graylands and The Gray Kings ©2026 by M. Walsh