Blurb blitz tour for Joshua K. Johnson

Today is a book blurb blitz tour for Joshua K. Johnson and his novel The Cerberus Rebellion.


He’s awarding .mobi copies of his short stories (details available at
www.gunpowderfantasy.com/products) to
one commenter at every stop. A grand prize is also being awarded to one random commentor The Chesian Wars collection (all published 3 short stories
and an additional prelude short story exclusive to the collection).



For chances to win, leave an e-mail address with a comment below, or at any of Joshua’s other tour stops. The more you comment, the better chances you have to win. (Please feel free to leave comments without your e-mail address, too.) 

Bio:
Joshua
Johnson is the author of “Gunpowder Fantasy,” The Cerberus Rebellion, and the creator of the Griffins & Gunpowder
universe. When he isn’t working or spending time with his family, he writes
novels, short stories, and novellas.
He currently
lives in Northern Illinois with his wife and young son. 
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/#!/authorjkjohnson

Book blurb:

One
hundred years of peace and prosperity. War changes everything.
On the world
of Zaria, Elves, magic and mythical beasts coexist beside rifles and railroads.
The futures of two nations hang in the balance as rebels and revolutionaries
trade gunfire with loyalists and tyrants.
Eadric
Garrard was raised to believe that as the rightful King of Ansgar, his loyal
nobles and fearful subjects answered to his every whim, no matter the cost or
consequence. His decision to send his troops thousands of miles away will test
that fear, and loyalty.
Raedan Clyve
was ordinary until an Elven ritual involving a griffin’s heart turned him into
something more. Twenty years later, he still struggles with the magics that
rage through his body. His mentor holds him back from his full potential and he
faces pressure to find a suitable wife and father an heir.
Hadrian Clyve
has picked up where his father left off and works to expand his family’s
influence amongst the Ansgari nobility. His aggressive negotiation of alliances
and shrewd choice of marriage agreements has earned him respect, and
resentment. When his King calls his troops to arms, Hadrian has other things in
mind.
After a
century of scheming and decades of preparation, Magnus Jarmann is ready to
bring his family’s plans to fruition by launching a war of independence that
will free his people and return his country to its rightful place among the
nations of Zaria. The King’s call to arms creates an opportunity that Magnus
cannot afford to miss.
In a war,
little is held back; in a revolution, nothing is safe.

Excerpt:
Magnus
reined up his horse in front of the largest tent pavilion he had ever seen.
“And whose
tent is this?” The gaudy purple canvas tent structure stood twenty feet at the
center pole, at least twelve at the edge and was more than a hundred feet on
each side.
“Your
Grace, it is mine!” a short man announced and then bowed. “Sir Byron Alfson, of
Harristown.”
“Ah, sir,
you have me at a disadvantage.”
Magnus
inspected the knight with narrowed eyes.
He had a
mop of frail-looking brown hair tied into a short ponytail and a narrow nose
that was flanked by light blue eyes. He wore a greatcoat that looked like it
had been cut from the same fabric as his tent.
Harristown
was one of the small villages that had sprouted up along the rail lines that
ran from Agilard to Aetheston. The strange grape beer that had made the town
famous gave its color to everything the town did. They had even changed their
sigil to a purple field with a golden mug.
“This is
quite the pavilion,” Magnus continued after a moment. “I didn’t know that the
grape beer business had so much money to be made.”
“We do our
best, Your Grace,” the knight said. “I hope my pavilion does not offend you,
Your Grace. While it is my tent, I have shared it with many of the knights from
Lord Tallet’s levies.”
“It does
not offend,” Magnus lied. If he had his way, the knights would be sleeping in
camp tents with the rest of his soldiers. But his advisors had warned him that
not giving the knights and lesser lords their symbols of pride and authority
could drive them away. He had been reluctant to accept the counsel, but in the
end the tradition of tent pavilions and knightly feasts had been upheld. “Carry
on, Sir Alfson.”
“Thank you,
Your Grace.” The knight bowed again and disappeared into his purple
monstrosity.


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