HAND OF VENGEANCE, new Anglo-Saxon era fiction soon-to-release

"This really is a magnificent book. It was written with the mind of a lawyer and the pen of a poet.”
                           17-year-old advance-manuscript reader

I had an absolutely wonderful time writing this book. Set in 8th-century Anglo-Saxon Northumbria, HAND OF VENGEANCE takes its place as the second in my HEROES & HISTORY SERIES, Hostage Lands being the landmark book for the new series. There are several more books stewing in their juices for this series that will include historical fiction from ancient to modern times. Click on the title and read a sample chapter. Or click here to listen to me read an audio excerpt.

"What could be better than an intriguing mystery, a little romance, and a short sojourn in a place and time that’s little known and less understood?  Douglas Bond shines a light on the past in a way that’s as entertaining as it is informative."

Janie B. Cheaney, Senior Writer, WORLD magazine

Pre-Release Reader Comments on WEAPONS OF VENGEANCE

I have several kind folks who read manuscripts for me before they get sent off to the publisher for their knife. My rule is that they can't gush only; they must give me meaningful critique, helpful analysis of how things are working, and help me find my typo blunders. My publishers tell me my manuscripts are some of the cleanest that they get from their authors. As I am tempted to preen myself with pride at their comment, I am reminded of all the skillful and opinionated eyes that have helped me get it to that clean stage: preeminently, my mother; the Spear gang; John Schrupp; Paul Walker; and others on occasion. Here's what some of them have said about my 8th century Anglo-Saxon historical crime fiction novel.


"Magnificent! The whole thing reads aloud so well, like a sung ballad in its words and cadence. Amazing.” Mother of three

“Well, as much as I loved the Crown and Covenant Trilogy and thought they were written well, this new book is on a different planet.  I love it!” 11-year-old reader

"What a great yarn!  The story thread worked very well, not predictably, and with enough twists and turns to keep attention riveted.  It read great, both aloud and silently.  I applaud the flow and cadence."

"Your descriptiveness is wonderfully done and strikes the mark, providing depth and nuance, and immersing the reader in a certain beauty of word and mind-picture."

"Early returns are an enthusiastically wild thumbs-up from the natives.  Creates a dilemma, of course, for they are ready with their sharpened knives and indeed do prefer using them in season and out. Of course, my red ink pot has its lid off, but is becoming a little forlorn.  Surely something will come up to critique, lest we all lose our job and the author falls into pride:-)"

You can listen to an excerpt at WEAPONS OF VENGEANCE

Early excerpt of my Anglo-Saxon who-done-it. Just underway

He did, however, detect something amiss with the landscape. Halting in his stride, he attempted to reconstruct the familiar sight in his mind’s eye.

“Ah so,” he said aloud. “Yonder tree’s gone missing.”

On a wind-swept, barren island when a tree went missing it was impossible not to take notice. Perhaps it was struck down in the night by the lightning, by Thunor’s hammer, so Cynwulf mused. But as he neared the place where the old tree had stood, gnarled and unchanged throughout the seasons of his life, he saw its roots splayed and washed clean by the heavy rain. He quickened his pace.

His first thought was of what he would do with the wood. It was sycamore wood, tough, and suitable for fine furniture for a laird’s great hall. Perhaps he could sell it on the mainland, though he sensed that it might have more value here on the island where wood was scarce. Frowning, he mused long on this. He felt he might be about to overtake and come along side some principle, that he might be near dropping his anchoring stone in the mouth of the nature of things in a bewildering world. He often felt this way. But as was usual when he did, it passed, and he returned his mind to planning out what he would do with the wood.

Circling his prize, Cynwulf nearly lost his footing on the edge of the hole where the tree’s roots had rested these many years, perhaps centuries. He was about to take his mind back to his twofold prosperity and how he might use it to win Haeddi’s hand and take her to his living place for wife, when he noticed something round and pale in the red earth beneath where the ancient tree had stood. He picked his way into the hole and fell to his knees; mud from the rainfall felt soft and cool on his feet and calves. With his hands he cleared earth away from the object.

Cynwulf had seen human remains, many times had he seen this. Pale gray bones, flaking with age, and a skull seemingly smaller than his own, yet without flesh and hair, it was difficult to tell for certain. Gently, he moved the soft earth away from the head. 

“And just how is it,” he spoke conversationally as he worked, “how is it that you came to rest in the sod of this holy island?”