The Tercentennial Baron
by Will Damron
narrated by Tim Gerard Reynolds
-Fantasy, YA, Scotland
Release date: October 27, 2017
Amazon | Goodreads | Smashwords | Audible
A vengeful, wild-eyed warrior, he’s the most sinister figure in Scottish legend. For three centuries, the Tercentennial Baron has fought his way through famous battles—then vanished without a trace. Now he’s reappeared in the quiet town of Bonnybield, where he’s about to be discovered by thirteen-year-old Percival Dunbar…
Armed with a secret stash of books on the supernatural, Percival is the only one to recognize the ghostly signs emerging around his town. When he tries to decipher them, he’s terrified to suddenly find himself face to face with the murderous Tercentennial Baron. However, the Baron reveals he’s come not to attack Bonnybield, but to save it from an ancient, demonic evil.
Through an epic journey from the battlefields of 17th-century Scotland to the underworld of Victorian London and beyond, Percival races to uncover the truth of the Baron’s past—and what it means for his own destiny.
About the author:
Will Damron is an award-winning audiobook narrator who has recorded books in virtually every genre, from fantasy to sci-fi, YA, romance, thriller, nonfiction, and literary fiction. He was raised on a 350-year-old farm in southern Virginia, where reading was just about the only reliable pastime. His narration work has earned him multiple AudioFile Magazine Earphones Awards, two Voice Arts Awards, and an Audie Award.
About the narrator:
Tim Gerard Reynolds has received multiple AudioFile Magazine Earphones Awards, and has been named as one of best narrators of the year in 2014, 2015 and 2016. In 2016, three books he narrated were among the highest grossing audiobooks in the country. Tim has been nominated for both Audie and Voice Arts Awards. A native of Ireland, he has performed onstage Off-Broadway and throughout the US and Europe.
Excerpt:
Chapter 2 Sample
At that moment, something in the earth around them shifted. The trees ceased their rustling, the clouds encircling the moon grew still… and Percival realized the breeze had stopped. Not died down, just stopped. Everything felt too calm, too hidden, as though the night were holding its breath.
Percival rose to his feet. Abi shifted, as if from a prickle on her skin.
“I don’t know, Perce,” she said, closing the book and hugging her warm thermos. “Let’s call it a night, yeah? Maybe tomorrow we can—”
“
Abi.” Percival was staring past her, his body as rigid as the standing stone.
“What?”
“Somethin’ just moved behind you.”
“… What? Perce, if you’re kiddin’ me on ’cause of this Baron thing—” And then she turned and saw it, too.
A tall, lanky man was standing out on the slope by a patch of heather. He hadn’t approached from nearby, but had just materialized, like an image on the TV. He was motionless, outlined against the purple horizon, gazing down toward Bonnybield.
“Oh my God…” Abi’s words barely passed her throat. “Who is—”
“
Shh.” Percival pulled her to her feet. No sooner had he done so than the man turned his head, and
disappeared. It took less than a second: his entire body simply blinked away. He might as well have been a mirage.
“
Perce…” Abi began haltingly.
Suddenly, the man appeared again—this time less than twenty feet away.
Abi jumped, and Percival’s heart lurched in his chest. Neither of them could make a sound. The man, however, couldn’t be less concerned with them. He continued staring down into Bonnybield, as if waiting for something to happen. Even his attire was strange: he wore a dark greatcoat and tall hat like somebody from a Dickens novel, and his face was unnaturally smooth and delicate, like porcelain. He looked as if he’d stepped out of a nineteenth-century photograph.
Yet his eyes were not green, Percival noticed. Nor was there a scar—not even a mark—upon his skin. This was not the Tercentennial Baron. But it was, finally, the first supernatural being Percival had seen. His mouth quivered in a thrilled smile, and his limbs thrummed with adrenaline.
Abi’s hand inched toward her coat pocket.
“A… photo,” she breathed. “Otherwise nobody will believe—”
“No. No, we must leave him be.” Percival didn’t know why, but he felt that the hillside, for that moment, was not quite part of his and Abi’s world. He became drawn to how focused the ghostly man’s stare was on the town. Somehow, Percival was sure this was no spirit come to revisit a scene from life, as Grimm said many ghosts did. This man was
searching Bonnybield for something very particular.
“I want to see what he’s lookin’ at,” Percival whispered. He set the book in Abi’s trembling hands and crept down the slope, trying to place himself near the man’s sightline.
“
Perce!” Abi hissed as she clutched the book.
Percival raised his hand to quiet her. He reached a point directly beneath the man and was scouring his eyes for some sign of intent when, without warning, the man’s head flicked down—fast as a raven’s—and fixed his gaze
on Percival.
Percival jumped so violently he fell back on the grass. Everything inside him turned to ice: he saw now that the man’s eyes burned bright yellow, like a panther about to pounce. Those eyes pinned him to the hillside, and the man’s face took on a look of wonder as he stared at Percival. Almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, and two whispered syllables escaped:
“
Dun… bar…”
The air exploded. A brutal wind burst from atop the hill and swept down the slope, knocking Abi to her knees. Percival clung to the grass and felt his gut tighten when he heard, even louder than before, a tormented moan pierce the wind. The man’s yellow eyes went out like a pair of lights, and he turned and vanished, not even leaving a footprint in his wake.
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