The Lords
of the Wind
(The Saga
of Hasting the Avenger, Book 1)
Narrated by
Gildart Jackson.
Orphaned as
a child by a blood-feud, and sold as a slave to an exiled chieftain in Ireland,
the boy Hasting had little hope of surviving to adulthood. The gods had other
plans. A ship arrived at his master's longphort carrying a man who would alter
the course of his destiny, and take him under his wing to teach him the ways of
the Vikings. His is a story of a boy who was a slave, who became a warlord, and
who helped topple an empire.
A supposed
son of Ragnar Lodbrok, and referred to in the Gesta Normannorum as the Scourge
of the Somme and Loire, his life exemplified the qualities of the ideal Viking.
Join author and historian C.J. Adrien on an adventure that explores the coming
of age of the Viking Hasting, his first love, his first great trials, and his first
betrayal.
"The
Lords of the Wind" by C.J. Adrien is a gold medal winner in the 2020
Reader's Favorite annual international book award contest.
Trigger
Warnings:
Violence
Praise
"If
you want to sit down with an extremely well-researched tale involving heroic
battles, first loves, and the making of a legend, this book is for you."
The Historical Novel Society
Buy Links:
This series is available
on #KindleUnlimited.
The Lords of the Wind (Book 1)
In the Shadow of the Beast (Book 2)
The Kings of the Sea (Book 3)
¸.•*´¨)✯ ¸.•*¨) ✮
( ¸.•´✶
C.J. Adrien
Five Fun Facts
(Stuff you may or may not already
know!)
Fact
#1: I am the third generation in my family to publish
On
my father’s side, I am the third generation of writers. My grandfather
published two memoirs about his life building an international commercial
fishing empire and more recently a book on climate change. My father has
written six novels in total, all of them based in the country of Peru where his
girlfriend lives. What makes this fact a little more interesting is that I, the
third and last generation, was the first to press and inspired the others to
write!
Fact
#2: I once caught an owl with a car.
In
2008, I drove home from my grandparents’ house on the island of Noirmoutier to
my dad’s house in Nantes, near the airport where I had a flight to catch the
following morning. I drove a 1987 Volkswagen Golf Boston with the old yellow
lights that made it hard to see far ahead. The sun had set, shrouding the
bocages on either side of the narrow French countryside road in darkness. A
shadow emerged from the trees to my right around one corner just outside of St.
Lumine de Coutais. A dark mass collided with the front of my car, and I
screamed! The road was windy and narrow. I knew if I stopped to look at what
had struck my car, another car might not see me and cause a worse accident, so
I decided to continue to the next village before stopping. The dark mass hung
lifeless on my grill, its disheveled feathers fluttering in the wind. Whatever
I had hit, I thought, was dead.
A
few moments later, the animal I thought I had killed sprung to life. An owl,
the size of a medium-sized dog, rose up from the grill with a rigid body, in
the same manner Dracula rises from his coffin. Its head swiveled around, and we
locked eyes. With a slow and dramatic raise of its wings, it attempted to fly
off, but its foot had caught in something on my grill. The beast knew it was
trapped.
We
spent an uncomfortable five-or-so minutes staring at each other until we
arrived at the church at the center of St. Lumine de Coutais. The church lights
allowed me to see my hitchhiker more clearly. I stood outside my car and
examined him for a moment. His eyes looked at me, too. A taut silence set in
between us. It was cut short by a sudden double honk and the arrival of a
French police car. Two gendarmes emerged and sauntered toward me.
“You are parked
illegally in front of the church. Give us your pa…”
Before
the gendarme could finish his sentence, his colleague interrupted him: “Oh, merde!”
Their
attention turned to my hitchhiker, who fluttered his wings with a majestic and
authoritative grace. I laughed at their reaction and said, “Could you help me get him off?”
“I don’t know how,”
one of them said. The other shook his head.
“My dad’s
house is five minutes away,” I said. “We have tools.”
“D’accord,”
they said. “Drive safely.”
I
had to laugh. Gendarmes have a reputation for doing no more than what they need
to do. These two had gotten me to move out of an illegal parking position, and
that was all they felt they needed to do. As I sat back in my car, I caught
them taking selfies in front of the owl. I shook my head, put the car into
gear, and puttered away. What a joke!
Returned
to the darkness of the French countryside, I kept my speed under 30km/hour to
prevent disturbing my passenger. Bright lights flashed in my rearview
mirror, and a car zoomed up behind us. As French drivers tend to do, they
flashed me and even honked to tell me how displeased they were with how slow I
drove. As they passed, I noticed a black Peugeot 605 with a whole family
inside. The father extended his arm and hand to flip me the bird but stopped
short when he caught sight of the owl. His eyes opened wide, his wife in the
passenger seat gawked, and the children in the back smushed their hands and
noses against the window. Their car lingered beside mine so they could stare,
then sped off ahead of us.
My
dad saw my lights pull into his driveway and decided to come out to greet me.
When he saw the owl, he had no reaction. He just shook his head, grinned, and
said, “Pourqu’oi faire simple quand on peut faire difficile.” (translation:
why do things simple when we can make them hard)
My
dad put on a pair of leather gloves and pulled apart the car’s headlamp. He
allowed the owl to grasp his hand, and he held it up like a falconer. We did
take a picture with a disposable camera, but my dad misplaced it in his house
somewhere and never had it developed. Alas, all I am left with is the memory of
my dad casting the owl off into the night and hearing the beating of its wings
echoing in the street.
Fact
#3: I had the fastest tennis serve in my conference at 17.
When
I was seventeen, I played a lot of competitive tennis. My claim to fame was my serve.
It was once clocked at 137 miles per hour, making it the fastest serve in my
conference.
Fact
#4: My fiancé and I recently released a kids' book about the Vikings
“I’m a Viking!” is
a history book about the Viking Age for kids. Join Leif, a chieftain’s son who
wants nothing more than to grow up to be a Viking just like his dad. Follow
Leif as he gives you a tour of his life—the things he must learn, the things he
likes to do for fun, and much more. “I’m a Viking!” is
an excellent primer for young minds interested in the past. Don’t be fooled—grown-ups
may learn a thing or two, too.
Fact
#5: My sister says I talk a lot.
In
writing these fun facts, I asked my sister (who is autistic) what she thinks is
a fun fact about me. She said I talk a lot.
C.J. Adrien
C.J.
Adrien is a bestselling and award-winning author of Viking historical fiction
novels with a passion for Viking history. His Saga of Hasting the Avenger
series was inspired by research conducted in preparation for a doctoral program
in early medieval history as well as his admiration for historical fiction
writers such as Ken Follett and Bernard Cornwell. He is also a published
historian on the subject of Vikings, with articles featured in historical
journals such as L’Association des Amis de Noirmoutier, in France.
His novels and expertise have earned him invitations to speak at several
international events, including the International Medieval Congress at the
University of Leeds, the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry (OMSI),
conferences on Viking history in France, among others.
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