The Darkest Hand Trilogy

THE HUNTED

He’d visited Sarajevo many times before. That entire region, stretching like a twisted spine from Montenegro to Romania and to the shores of the Black Sea, seemed to be clutched by a persistent wickedness, rumours of unspeakable horrors howling in the dark of the wilds. Someone once said that, generations ago, a terrible evil had taken root in the Carpathian mountains and its malevolence had spread far and deep, infecting the lands, places, and people. The Priest ignored such chatter. He knew that devil’s work was found in all places of the world, not just here.

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THE DAMNED

He was aware of his hands moving before he had time to even consider where they should go, as if guided by another greater power. Wherever they went there followed a weeping and a pleading from voices quite unlike his, the splintering of limbs, the falling of bodies, then a tight intake of breath and then a slow release as death came.

And lights. Everywhere about him were lights, hanging in the air around him, embracing him, nourishing him with their rays.

And then, as quickly as the brawl had begun, it was over. Tacit picked the Father up off the floor and ushered him away from the lifeless bodies strewn about the courtyard.

Adansoni threw his eyes onto the boy and stared, a look speared somewhere between fear, disbelief and wonder at what his young pupil had done. “You are, Poldek,” Adansoni muttered, his eyes wide on the young man. “You are,” he repeated.

“I am what, Father?”

But Adansoni could, or would, say no more.


eBook available from July 2019
Paperback available from September 2019 

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THE FALLEN

There was dust and smoke and wrestling bodies in the trench ahead of him. It appeared it was a tunnel to hell. He dropped into it and turned in time to see a Hungarian charge towards him. Instinct kicked in and he thrust out with his rifle, his eyes tightly shut. The rifle went heavy and the figure hung limp on the end of it. Pablo lowered it and the man slid off, dead, pierced clean through the heart. Pablo looked down into the dead man’s wide staring eyes.

There were tears in his own eyes, and tears in the eyes of the man he had just killed.


eBook available from July 2019
Paperback available from September 2019

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THE RISEN

Darkness seemed to boil in the hollows of the graveyard. From the east, a cool meandering pall of sea stink and rot rolled breathlessly onto the land, drawing from the earth a lingering mist, as if a spell had been spoken to raise spirits from the ground.

A bright moon caught in the branches of the great trees around the graveyard, glittering the ground and the men creeping beneath them with soft circles of silver light. None of them had spoken since their boat had drawn alongside the narrow stone quay of the small deserted island hospital harbour an hour before.

Beyond the boughs of the trees and stunted slabs of gravestones, roughly hewn for purpose rather than out of love or respect for the dead buried beneath them, distant lights from surrounding islands and the Italian mainland could be seen to twinkle white and amber. In the silence of this abandoned lazaretto, long rumoured to be haunted, spirits could still be felt to reach out and grapple the Inquisitors as they passed, the occasional muffled bark of laughter from Venice across the water sounding foreign and mistaken in the hateful dark. In the depths of the graveyard, unseen unblinking eyes watched each of the men with rankling spite.


eBook available from July 2019
Paperback available from September 2019

£8.99
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THE DAMNED audiobook

He was aware of his hands moving before he had time to even consider where they should go, as if guided by another greater power. Wherever they went there followed a weeping and a pleading from voices quite unlike his, the splintering of limbs, the falling of bodies, then a tight intake of breath and then a slow release as death came.

And lights. Everywhere about him were lights, hanging in the air around him, embracing him, nourishing him with their rays.

And then, as quickly as the brawl had begun, it was over. Tacit picked the Father up off the floor and ushered him away from the lifeless bodies strewn about the courtyard.

Adansoni threw his eyes onto the boy and stared, a look speared somewhere between fear, disbelief and wonder at what his young pupil had done. “You are, Poldek,” Adansoni muttered, his eyes wide on the young man. “You are,” he repeated.

“I am what, Father?”

But Adansoni could, or would, say no more.

 

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THE FALLEN audiobook

There was dust and smoke and wrestling bodies in the trench ahead of him. It appeared it was a tunnel to hell. He dropped into it and turned in time to see a Hungarian charge towards him. Instinct kicked in and he thrust out with his rifle, his eyes tightly shut. The rifle went heavy and the figure hung limp on the end of it. Pablo lowered it and the man slid off, dead, pierced clean through the heart. Pablo looked down into the dead man’s wide staring eyes.

There were tears in his own eyes, and tears in the eyes of the man he had just killed.

 

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THE HUNTED (Duckworth edition)

He’d visited Sarajevo many times before. That entire region, stretching like a twisted spine from Montenegro to Romania and to the shores of the Black Sea, seemed to be clutched by a persistent wickedness, rumours of unspeakable horrors howling in the dark of the wilds. Someone once said that, generations ago, a terrible evil had taken root in the Carpathian mountains and its malevolence had spread far and deep, infecting the lands, places, and people. The Priest ignored such chatter. He knew that devil’s work was found in all places of the world, not just here.

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THE DAMNED (Duckworth edition)

He was aware of his hands moving before he had time to even consider where they should go, as if guided by another greater power. Wherever they went there followed a weeping and a pleading from voices quite unlike his, the splintering of limbs, the falling of bodies, then a tight intake of breath and then a slow release as death came.

And lights. Everywhere about him were lights, hanging in the air around him, embracing him, nourishing him with their rays.

And then, as quickly as the brawl had begun, it was over. Tacit picked the Father up off the floor and ushered him away from the lifeless bodies strewn about the courtyard.

Adansoni threw his eyes onto the boy and stared, a look speared somewhere between fear, disbelief and wonder at what his young pupil had done. “You are, Poldek,” Adansoni muttered, his eyes wide on the young man. “You are,” he repeated.

“I am what, Father?”

But Adansoni could, or would, say no more.


To buy this edition, please contact the author direct.

Contact the Author

 

£12.99 £10.00
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THE FALLEN (Duckworth edition)

There was dust and smoke and wrestling bodies in the trench ahead of him. It appeared it was a tunnel to hell. He dropped into it and turned in time to see a Hungarian charge towards him. Instinct kicked in and he thrust out with his rifle, his eyes tightly shut. The rifle went heavy and the figure hung limp on the end of it. Pablo lowered it and the man slid off, dead, pierced clean through the heart. Pablo looked down into the dead man’s wide staring eyes.

There were tears in his own eyes, and tears in the eyes of the man he had just killed.


To buy this edition, please contact the author directly

Contact the Author
£8.99 £6.00
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THE RISEN (Duckworth edition)

Darkness seemed to boil in the hollows of the graveyard. From the east, a cool meandering pall of sea stink and rot rolled breathlessly onto the land, drawing from the earth a lingering mist, as if a spell had been spoken to raise spirits from the ground.

A bright moon caught in the branches of the great trees around the graveyard, glittering the ground and the men creeping beneath them with soft circles of silver light. None of them had spoken since their boat had drawn alongside the narrow stone quay of the small deserted island hospital harbour an hour before.

Beyond the boughs of the trees and stunted slabs of gravestones, roughly hewn for purpose rather than out of love or respect for the dead buried beneath them, distant lights from surrounding islands and the Italian mainland could be seen to twinkle white and amber. In the silence of this abandoned lazaretto, long rumoured to be haunted, spirits could still be felt to reach out and grapple the Inquisitors as they passed, the occasional muffled bark of laughter from Venice across the water sounding foreign and mistaken in the hateful dark. In the depths of the graveyard, unseen unblinking eyes watched each of the men with rankling spite.


To buy this edition, please contact the author directly.

Contact the Author
£8.99 £6.00
View Book

What the critics are saying

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Richardson's debut has mash-up leanings. It works surprisingly well. Dan Brown brown fans will love this and it's more sophisticated, too.

The Daily Mail

“Are you Tacit?” the woman asked him.

“Who wants to know?” he growled, his eyes fixed on the half full bottle of spirit and glass alongside. He reached his greasy fingers forward and gathered up the tumbler, necking the amber liquid in a single quick gulp.

Thee woman paused and looked at the Inquisitor hard. She’d met a few of them in her time, Inquisitors. The experienced ones; they all looked haggard, spoiled, bruised, a symptom of their line of work. But Tacit, he looked more ruined than any she had seen before. He looked old as an oak tree and as rough as its bark.

THE DAMNED, Book 1 of THE DARKEST HAND trilogy

About Tarn

Novelist of The Darkest Hand trilogy, Ripped and The Village in the Woods

Born in Bristol in 1972, Tarn grew up a fan of J.R.R.Tolkien near Taunton, Somerset, in a remote house rumoured to be haunted. He has been a copywriter, written murder mystery dinner party games and worked in digital media for over twenty years.

He is the author of the The Darkest Hand trilogy, comprising of The Damned, The Fallen, The Risen and the eBook prequel The Hunted, all published by Red Door Books.

He lives near Salisbury.

THE DAMNED

He was aware of his hands moving before he had time to even consider where they should go, as if guided by another greater power. Wherever they went there followed a weeping and a pleading from voices quite unlike his, the splintering of limbs, the falling of bodies, then a tight intake of breath and then a slow release as death came.

And lights. Everywhere about him were lights, hanging in the air around him, embracing him, nourishing him with their rays.

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