8 Best Sword And Sorcery Books For Fantasy Lovers [March 2023]

The best sword and sorcery books from Next Chapter [March 2023]

A fantasy subgenre, S&S involves heroes engaging in exciting, oftentimes violent or action-filled adventures. The term was coined as early as 1961 by Fritz Leiber, in response to a letter from the famous Michael Moorcock (author of Stormbringer).

Below, you’ll you’ll find some of the best sword and sorcery books from Next Chapter as of March 2023. All of our books are available in eBook and paperback, and most in audio as well. Some of the books on this page are also completely free to download, if you get them as an eBook!

If you enjoy one of the stories below, please don’t forget to leave the author a review! Don’t agree with our choices? Please leave a comment and let us know your favorite :)

Books featured on this page

• Evil Arises (Roland Of The High Crags Book 1) by B.R. Stateham

• A Chronicle Of Chaos (The Light And Shadow Chronicles Book 1) by D.M. Cain

• Bronze Magic (The Sorcerer's Oath Book 1) by Jennifer Ealey

• Cradle of the Gods (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 1) by Thomas Quinn Miller

• Darrienia (Forgotten Legacies Book 1) by K.J. Simmill

• Dolor And Shadow (The Seidr Cycle Book 1) by Angela B. Chrysler

• By The Gods's Ears (Chanson de Guerre Book 1) by Christopher Fly

• Skeleton Company (The Hunter And Chekwe Adventures Book 2) by Aaron M. Fleming

Pulp Sword & Sorcery

Evil Arises (Roland Of The High Crags Book 1) by B.R. Stateham

The jagged peaks of the High Kanris mountains rise from the plains and forests into the sky with little warning. A steep shield wall of hard stone suddenly appears in the distance as one rides across the rolling plains. The wall soars five thousand feet in a steep vertical angle into the odd blue-white colored sky. No matter how many times I leave the Kanris and return, catching the first glimpse of the rugged, towering face of the wall and observing the snow-capped peaks glistening in the sun always takes the breath from me.

Behind the shield wall are the Kanris mountains. To be more precise, a series of mountain ranges, perhaps fifty different mountain ranges in all, twist and turn like a den of snakes, make up the Kanris. I have traveled far and wide in this world and have seen much. From the swamps of the southern hemisphere, the fabled ancestral home of King Dragons and Winged Beasties, to the fabled Garanges mountains of the Far North, I have laid eyes upon many wonders. In the Garanges, it is said the gods live in splendid solitude, having won their war against man and deciding to withdraw from worldly concerns. Legends say that just before they withdrew, still smoldering from the rude abuse they had received from their young and arrogant creation, the gods decided to punish man for his insolence by creating their eternal tormentor and nemesis. So, from the fevered and unhealthy swamps of the southern hemisphere, the gods breathed life into dragon forms called King Dragons. For King Dragons to ride the skies and terrorize land dwellers, the gods gave them Winged Beasties.

Yes, I have seen the lonely and haunting beauty of the Garanges. And I find myself believing the stories about gods living in their cloud-filled heights. But Pilgrim, there is nothing like the breathtaking rugged beauty or the magnificent panorama of snow-capped splendor as one finds in the High Kanris. To ride a Great Wing freely through the steep-walled valleys and underneath the towering spires rising to the heavens is to know a bliss of sublime elegance. Strapped tightly in the saddle of a Great Wing as it rides on the buffeting winds and updrafts found among and below the peaks, one can see for leagues across mountainous ranges so rugged and so inaccessible, much of it has yet to be explored. Many of its valleys are still carpeted in ancient forests with leafy canopies in myriad shades of green and gold. There are mountain streams filled with a type of trout that measures as long as a man’s longest stride. On a clear, bright day, where no clouds mar the blue heavens, one can, in the distance, see small specks of wild Great Wings, in a rainbow splash of colors, whirling around as they hunt or simply wing from one rocky perch to another.

It was into these beautiful peaks and rugged valleys, as the legends go, that the god Shu’zhin guided the last survivors of man to safety from the onslaught of King Dragons and Winged Beasties. It was this god, this outcast from the pantheon of eternal gods, who first took wet clay and formed an image of himself, breathing the Breath of Life into it. This First Man became our ancestor, and, like his creator, this man became the curious seeker, the constant questioner, whom the older and wiser gods found to be so much of a nuisance.

LGBT Sword & Sorcery

A Chronicle Of Chaos (The Light And Shadow Chronicles Book 1) by D.M. Cain

THE COLD WIND whipped around Anathema, his light brown hair obscuring his vision. Icy drops of drizzle sprayed his delicate human skin. He cursed the need to remain discreet, to trudge so slowly across the land, his weak body labouring over every tiny step. He longed to stretch his wings and burst free from the frustrating confines of his disguise.

In a fit of rebellious anger, he had marched from the Belkeep throne room, hatred and cruelty consuming him with the desire to damage Vincent and Phantom. He needed to let them know that he was not a pawn to use as they desired. He should not be cast aside so easily, a useless commodity, only utilised when no other option was available. He was frenzied with the idea of revenge, consumed by a thirst to inflict pain, but a cold truth gnawed at the pit of his stomach. No matter how much he wanted to teach them both a severe lesson, Vincent and Phantom were his superiors and, as much as he hated to admit it, they were holding his reins. So he defied them in the only way he could—by dismissing the restrictions on his freedom. He had marched across Meraxor, the Brotherhood’s lands, to the demon settlement at Vermidor. Slaughtering a few villagers for fun along the way, he had stormed straight out of the town and into the plains that led to the edge of Meraxor.

The Brotherhood’s towns and villages became sparse and eventually stopped, the flat and open land stretching on, featureless, into the distance. After a while, Anathema came across a thin wire fence marking the border. He knew there would be patrol guards along the fence, but he couldn’t see any. If he did, he could just kill them. Their swords and axes could do no damage to him.

He put one leg through the fence, ducked down and pulled his other leg through. Standing for the first time in the forbidden wilderness, he stopped and took in a deep breath of freedom. This was Karinam, part of the uncharted lands. Neither the Children of Light nor the Brotherhood of Shadow owned this primitive soil. Untouched, unknown, trodden only by natives, hidden in their tiny dwellings. He gave a satisfied grin and trudged on towards the line of trees he could see in the distance, the edge of the Elaki forests.

As the landscape became familiar and repetitive, his mind wandered back to his earlier conversation with Vincent. Resentment rose within his chest again and his human fingers tingled with a longing to destroy. He searched the landscape, eyes scanning the horizon for the first sign of life: a farm, a house, a small hamlet. Anything. For where there was life, there was life to take away, and nothing would pacify his rage right now more than taking a life. He relished the idea of watching consciousness flicker and perish in the eyes of his victim as his hands clenched tighter around a human’s throat. The thought aroused him and he looked more fervently for settlements.

Traditional Sword & Sorcery

Bronze Magic (The Sorcerer's Oath Book 1) by Jennifer Ealey

Driving rain pounded on the roof of Tarkyn’s shelter all morning. At some point, a plate of bread and soft cheese accompanied by a jug of berry juice was thrust into his tent with a brief “Good Morning,” but no one came in. After four days of repairing trees, followed by the discovery of Andoran and Sargon’s duplicity and his run-in with Autumn Leaves, Tarkyn was quite happy to spend the morning in bed.

When the rain passed, he lay listening to the birdsong around him until the gruff voice of the wizard sounded at the entrance to his shelter.

“Come on, young Sire. You can’t lie abed all day. Rain’s stopped. Sun’s out…well, most of the time anyway.”

Tarkyn grumbled to himself, but he was used to being ordered around by familiar retainers, whose lives revolved around his. As soon as he emerged from the bramble patch, Stormaway pounced on him. “I thought you might like to see some little concoctions I am experimenting with.”

Rubbing his face, Tarkyn looked around at the glistening leaves, damp logs and mud underfoot. The air was lively with the chirruping of small birds, cheerful after the rain. The woodfolk were nowhere in sight.

As he began to walk towards Stormaway, the wizard said, “Sire, if you wouldn’t mind, stand on stones as much as possible especially after rain. It reduces the amount of work required to hide your presence, if strangers should happen by.”

The prince was grumpy at being woken up, so he snapped, “Stormaway, I have a whole nation of people to look after my needs. I am sure they can find the time to disguise my footsteps. After all, I have made few demands on them so far and their service is casual, to say the least.” Nevertheless, from then on he did try to minimise the trail he left behind him.

Stormaway led him to an array of small bottles that he had laid out on a tree stump. “Now Sire, stand back a few feet and watch while I have a little dabble with these new potions I picked up on my last trip.”

He spooned out a small quantity of bright yellow powder from a little packet onto a tiny dish. Then he unstopped one of the bottles and poured a few drops of magenta liquid onto the powder. At first nothing happened. Then the powder began to fizz and a pungent smell wafted out from the dish.

Tarkyn coughed and his eyes watered, “Ugh Stormaway. That’s vile. What’s it for?”

Stormaway grinned, “I don’t know. I’m just playing. But I would say a larger quantity of that could be quite debilitating, wouldn’t you?” He produced a small tattered book and wrote furiously in it. When he had finished, he looked up, “Ready for another one?”

This time, he mixed silver and white powders together before pouring a thick, light blue liquid over them. Nothing happened. This did not seem to perturb the wizard. He hummed to himself as he worked the powders and liquid into a thick paste. Then he rolled it into a small, damp ball and placed it in the palm of his hand.

“Ready, Your Highness?” With that, he threw it hard onto the ground.

There was a blinding flash of light and a loud report.

When the smoke cleared Tarkyn found himself surrounded by woodfolk, facing the wizard with arrows drawn.

Stormaway was chuckling to himself, quite unconcerned, “Whoops! A bit more potent than I anticipated. I think I’ve singed my eyebrows.” He smiled approvingly at the woodfolk. “Very quick. I felicitate you.”

Thunder Storm scowled at him, “Stormaway, you play fast and loose with our prince and our forest. Desist.”

“Hmm. You do have a point. I had better be a little more careful.” The wizard bowed slightly to the prince, “Your Highness, I think it might be better if you watch from further away next time. I really didn’t mean to put you at risk.”

The woodfolk put away their arrows and turned to the prince.

“I hope that wasn’t too casual for you, Your Highness,” said Thunder Storm with awful sarcasm.

Before Tarkyn could reply, they had disappeared. The prince was left feeling torn between chagrin and anger.

Cradle of the Gods (The Soulstone Prophecy Book 1) by Thomas Quinn Miller

Gaidel could feel the blood rising to her cheeks. After the trouble back in Redwood, she knew this return home to the Cradle was going to be difficult. She had been raised, like every other child in the Cradle, to fear the Nordlah Barbarians.

She had been taught the land below the Drops was a dangerous wilderness where the tribes of barbarians and orcs constantly fought. If the barbarians and orcs didn't kill you, there were forest trolls along the plain's border and all types of giant cats that would be happy to oblige.

She could understand her kinsmen's dislike of her shieldwarden, but she had thought that title would be enough to make them look past Two Elks' heritage. The ceremony around the binding of a druid and her shieldwarden was a sacred one. She was beginning to understand that most just assumed the daughters chose their shieldwarden. But why would she bring this kind of trouble on herself?

“Do not presume to know my business, Magister,” Gaidel said. She could feel Two Elks behind the thick chair and was thankful for his presence.

Magister Obudar cleared his throat and leaned back. Dwarves always thought before they spoke. This one had made an art of it. “I do not presume to know your business, but I do presume to question it when it effects the Cradle. Your shieldwarden was ill chosen, Daughter Gaidel.”

Gaidel pretended to smooth her green robes. She could not argue that point, she had thought it many times since the binding herself. But, she was not going to admit it to Magister Obudar. “I am not comfortable with this conversation, Magister Obudar.” She was uncomfortable with this whole situation.

She had been approached as soon as she and Two Elks entered Lakeside, and shuffled into the Bastion through its dock entrance and straight into this small windowless room somewhere on the ground floor. There was entirely too much stone and not enough light here for her comfort.

“If you asked me to attend an audience to talk about my shieldwarden, we are finished.” Gaidel made to stand.

The two dwarven guards who stood by the door tensed, chain sliding against plate armor, as did the two guards behind Obudar's chair.

The magister raised one of his thick jeweled hands. “Be at peace, Daughter Gaidel.”

Gaidel sensed, rather than saw Two Elks' irritation. She could feel his eagerness to test himself against the four dwarven guards. She breathed deeply and thought calming thoughts. It would only make it worse if Two Elks fed on her unease.

“I would have waited to speak with Mother Brambles, but time was of the essence and I asked to speak with the first druid who could be found,” the magister said. “I only wish you to remind your sisters and more specifically Mother Brambles, to help keep the peace during the festival and particularly during the Rite of Attrition.”

Gaidel frowned. Something was wrong. The druids knew the dwarves of the Cradle held their rite during the summer festival for just that purpose. She also knew the rites rarely resulted in an actual culling. What was the magister not telling her? The dwarves rarely did anything in haste, so this rushed secret meeting meant something was sorely amiss.

“We are well aware of our responsibilities in keeping the balance in the Cradle, Magister Obudar. Is there something more you could share with us to help towards that goal?” Gaidel said.

The silence drifted on in the impromptu meeting room as the magister stared at her. She could almost see his mind at work. She would indeed find Mother Brambles as soon as she could.

Dark Sword & Sorcery

Darrienia (Forgotten Legacies Book 1) by K.J. Simmill

A backpack and a satchel was all Zo needed to carry her life away. She had found it hard to believe a life could be packed away so neatly. Everything she had could be stored in these two bags, and most of the space had been taken up by herbs, food, and a few wooden bowls.

Her vision continually strayed back in the direction of her home, towards a place she had found so much comfort. As she made her way slowly to meet with Elly and Eiji, concerns filled her mind. She wondered if she was really doing the right thing, if her absence would keep those she loved safe. Surely anywhere she lay her head would be in danger of being attacked. If the things she had been told were true, perhaps it would be better to return to Elly’s father, to whom she had apparently sworn fealty to. At least he would know the dangers her presence brought.

She wondered—regardless of who she was now— if she would ultimately return to become the stranger she didn’t remember, and questioned if would she forget her time on Crowley, like she had forgotten her time before it. She feared her friends and memories would fade into a distant background, and eventually become no more vivid than a forgotten dream. Such concerns preyed on her mind as she walked, and they made each step harder to take.

Pain and guilt knotted her stomach. In just under an hour the sun would be almost ready to set, and Daniel and Acha would return to wish her farewell, but she would not be there to greet them. She had to have left before they came. She was certain that if she faced them, she would lose the strength to do what was needed. Saying goodbye would break her heart. She knew it was better for everyone if she simply slipped away.

As soon as Daniel’s father had finished repairing the broken window, she had departed. This was the first time she ever remembered being grateful for their strained relationship. Jack had simply attended to his work, replacing the glass pane without asking a single question as to how it had been damaged.

Earlier that day, after they realised that, regardless of what they said, she was going to leave, Acha had begrudgingly left with Daniel. They insisted on getting her a parting gift, something which also gave them the opportunity to accompany Elly and Eiji to the town to gather supplies. Daniel must have asked his father to repair the damage immediately. She suspected his presence was to ensure she couldn’t depart before they returned. They hadn’t counted on it being such an easy task, after all, it was as simple as inserting another pane of glass. The wooden frame itself had, by some miracle, been left undamaged. She was already packing when Daniel’s father arrived. Jack barely spoke to her, and left her to her business as he removed the supporting part of the frame to slide the new sheet of glass into its groove. He didn’t even set foot inside the house, he simply shouted his farewell as he left.

Zo had agreed, in private, to meet Elly an hour before dusk. It was the best time. Most predators would expect her to leave when the darkness could provide cover for their departure. They wouldn’t even consider the possibility of a daylight escape. She only hoped she would not regret trusting her life, and the lives of those she loved, to the faint recognition she felt.

Sword & Sorcery Based On Norse Mythology

Dolor And Shadow (The Seidr Cycle Book 1) by Angela B. Chrysler

From the northernmost ends of the world, over the snows of Jotunheim, down past the fjords of Midgard, the land of Alfheim lay. Her tall, ancient pines stretched across the grass plains riddled with rivers that intertwined through forests and lakes. Rich forests radiated the heart of Freyr’s land where secrets were buried within, secrets forgotten even by the Ljosalfar, who had dwelt in the land since it had formed.

To the east, Lake Wanern stretched on like the sea. During the long, cold winters, it iced over so thick, so solid, that kings fought their wars on the surface, which was strong enough to sustain thousands. When standing on the bank, looking out to the farthest corner, one could not see its end. Its primary inlet, the Klarelfr River, flowed from the north and split in two around the island filled with the Ljosalfar city, Gunir, before pouring into Lake Wanern.

At the southernmost end of the lake, the waters drained into the Gautelfr River. For days it flowed, ending at the sea of the Kattegat. There, the shallow waters clawed and chewed apart a ship’s hull, ready to eat away the keel of a negligent crew. Sailors ignorant of the passing tides would find themselves run aground, or worse.

From the Kattegat, the mountains emerged, reaching high into the heavens where the peaks rose and vanished into the lowest clouds. Waterfalls cascaded from the mountains, dressing the rock in glistening streaks, the Dokkalfar’s most beloved waterfall being Livsvann that supplied Lorlenalin with fresh water.

There, the Dokkalfar built their mountain city, Lorlenalin, the White Opal. With stones of white glistening in the sun’s light, the Dokkalfar’s city distended from the precipice with a beauty equaled only to that of the Dvergar who lived in the caves beneath the mountains to the west. Homes and towers dressed the cliff face overlooking the Kattegat. Winding streets of white led deep into the earth, faceted with towering parapets and balustrades that extended into the clouds.

At the base of Lorlenalin and Livsvann’s end, the mountain met the sea. There, the Dokkalfar’s shipyard spanned the docks. There, they constructed great longships, shaped to cut through the waters. They formed their hulls to move with the sea, welcoming its power and using it rather than carving an unnatural path against the currents.

From the docks, the forests began and peppered the crag with speckled green, stretching up and around the elevation where it joined with Alfheim’s wood and concealed Lorlenalin. Pines and maples still green with color lined the earth and twisted their way up to the main gates in the back of the mountain.

Before the sun had reached its height, Kallan’s army emerged from the forest. In and out of trees, they weaved, crossing the occasional pool of light that spilled across the forest floor. The thunderous rumble of a horn shook the ground in welcome. Kallan slouched back into her saddle, raising a blank set of eyes to the city.

As a child, Lorlenalin had been her playground, bursting with many mysteries she once explored. The older she grew, the more restrictions forced her into the confines of her station. No longer free to run through the streets or crawl into the hidden corners of the market, the pearl-white streets with green décor were forgotten, left there as a painful reminder of the life she no longer had.

Sword & Sorcery Adventure

By The Gods's Ears (Chanson de Guerre Book 1) by Christopher Fly

“B-b-b-but,” Emmeline sputtered, “I do not want to marry anyone.” She shook her head back and forth and flailed her arms about uselessly. “H-h-h-he just said,” she sputtered again, “h-h-h-he only said h-h-h-he would show me the sea!”

Murielle nodded in grim affirmation. “So that is what he told you?”

“Oui, Mama, oui,” she spit out, “Oui. He said he would show me la mer. That is all. Oui.”

A low moaning drew their attention to Gilles who was sinking slowly to his knees, his face buried in his hands. “No, no, not my little girl!” he sobbed.

With a loud, agonizing scream, Gilles tore his face from his hands and without a glance to his wife and daughter he scrambled on his knees to the altar, clouds of dust swirling up around him from the dirt floor as he went. “Oh, great Golden Child, please hear my prayer!” Gilles pressed the fingertips of his right hand firmly on his forehead and began mumbling inaudibly.

Murielle rolled her eyes and sighed heavily in disgust. “Yes Gilles, that will help very much,” she spat sarcastically. “The god who cannot bring the rain will deliver us from this.”“Mama!”

“You disagree, child?” she snarled with nary a glance to her daughter.

“N-n-n-no,” she stammered, “but there must be a misunderstanding with the Prince.”

“There is no misunderstanding, Emmeline,” she rounded on her again. “The Prince intends that you will be his bride.” She paused a moment, watching her husband still muttering his foolish prayers. Then she added with a low sigh, “Whatever that means to him in his sick and twisted mind.”

Emmeline shook her head and flailed her arms again. “What... whatever do you mean, Mama? We... we will tell him that there has been a... a… mis… misunderstanding!”

“Emmeline! It is only you who are misunderstanding!” Murielle wrung her hands and began to pace in a tight circle. Emmeline opened her mouth to speak but Murielle cut her off. “Jul….” Murielle paused briefly and took a breath. “Many travelers have told me stories of the Prince.”

Emmeline looked at her mother blankly.

Murielle swallowed hard. “Let me tell you but one story.”

Emmeline huffed and flipped her hair.

“On a hunting trip in the West,” Murielle continued unabated, “the Prince came upon a small, isolated tenant farm. The couple there had a single child, a daughter. A very young daughter. She was about the age you are now, pretty, and she possessed a head of long flaming red hair. Jocelyn was her name. When the Prince saw her, he immediately requested her hand in marriage. Jocelyn’s parents were thrilled at the prospect and allowed the Prince to take her back to Darloque.

Skeleton Company (The Hunter And Chekwe Adventures Book 2) by Aaron M. Fleming

Book excerpt

Swordmaster Ellig of Roundoin sat with a cozy charcoal brazier on one side of him and a clutch of beeswax candles on a small table on the other side. He should have been mellow after a chicken dinner and a glass of wine, but instead his face was flushed with anger.

“Two unarmed men did this?” He jabbed a finger at Submaster Tavin’s smashed face. “Out in the open? And the whole town saw you humiliated?”

Tavin stared miserably at the ground. Novice Oldwin stared at the back of the tent wall. Only Herbst, the other novice, had the courage to look the master in the eye.

“Swordmaster, they surprised us. I mean, they challenged us to a duel. They were former soldiers, they said, so we assumed they were honorable, but…” he tailed off, thinking hard.

“But?” Ellig probed.

“Tavin accepted their challenge, Excellency. He was going to take them on, both at the same time!”

“Foolish,” Ellig spat at Tavin. “You’re just a sub-master. Wisdom must come along with skill, or our School will be humiliated. Was humiliated. What next?”

There you have it - the best sword and sorcery books from Next Chapter in 03/2023. We hope you enjoy the stories - and if you do, please leave a comment below, or a review in Goodreads or your favorite store. It would mean a lot to us!