SFFS 12-9-2015 Mole Machine 3

This is my snippet this week for SFFSat. SFFSat is a place where a number of authors post snippets from their written works, and give the opportunity for comments, support and encouragement. Please also explore the other blogs that are part of this set - you can find the information here.



This is a sequence from a novel I worked on for a time, but never managed to get it to work. The structure is steampunk meets lost world. A mole machine has burst up out of the ground in the midst of the hidden city of Geharne. Stahlmor, leader of the Vettsch army force, has seized control with his troops. The heroine of the book, Talenne, intends to run while Stahlmor demands that the ruler of Geharne surrenders.

There was a sudden gasp from the old man. Talenne looked round to see Stahlmor casually withdrawing his sword from Turaga's stomach. The old principal's face was ashen, disbelieving, broken words half-formed on dying lips, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He crumpled slowly to the ground. 

Talenne snarled an obscenity in choked rage, horror and fury turning her thoughts crimson. She spun the knife in her hand at Stahlmor. The cast was swift and unthought, the blade spinning cleanly through the sunlight on the balcony. Stahlmor had already begun to turn away from his victim, and caught the glint of steel at the last moment. He twisted, trying to evade the blade. He was almost fast enough, trained military reflexes serving him well. But not well enough. The point of the knife thudded into the muscle of his shoulder, not the neck she had aimed for. His oath, in harsh Vettschian, was the least hideous sound she had heard that morning. 

A corner of her mind reminded Talenne that she had just thrown away the only weapon she had. She advised the sensible corner of her mind that knifing Stahlmor was worth it, and she then concentrated on running.

 As always, comments welcomed!

SFFS 5-9-15 Mole Machine part 2

This is my snippet this week for SFFSat. SFFSat is a place where a number of authors post snippets from their written works, and give the opportunity for comments, support and encouragement. Please also explore the other blogs that are part of this set - you can find the information here.



This is a sequence from a novel I worked on for a time, but never managed to get it to work. The structure is steampunk meets lost world. A mole machine has burst up out of the ground in the midst of the hidden city of Geharne. Stalhmor, leader of the Vettsch army force, is confronting the leader of Geharne.

 

Already hatches were opening in the torso of the steam crocodile as it lurched onto all fours on the floor of the arena, the lower tracks extruding slightly from the hull to support the brute's mass. Soldiers in the turgid grey uniforms of Vettsch were leaping out, swords already flaming in their hands. A few - a very few - Geharnei were wielding their own dull blades in opposition to the invader in their midst. The trained Vettschian troops cut them down without mercy. The drillhead was slowing, its task completed, steam still hissing from the pipework embedded in the hull, the roar of its arrival almost gone. 

Stahlmor was on his feet, now, and his sword was in his hand. His blade was pointing at Turaga. "Tell your people to surrender, Turaga." His voice was deceptively soft, the harsh rasp of the Vettschian accent almost inaudible. "Or else my men will have to kill more of you."

Allory's blade was in his hand. "You can't do this, Stahlmor!"

The Vettschian turned slightly, his blade not wavering from the old Geharnei's throat. "Really, Allory? I'm so glad you explained that to me - I might not have realised otherwise." 

 As always, comments welcomed!

Guest blogger: SA Check

 I'm delighted to welcome Maxx Fragg to my blog today, together with his creator, SA Check.

SA's novel was released yesterday, and I can heartily recommend it.

So what is a VPI? The answer is a Virtual Paranormal Investigator. A man who hunts the ghost in the machine.

I attach a snippet from the book to whet your appetites for it!

SA - the man (ir)responsible for Maxx.

Excerpt

Tucked between the shadows and the night, standing in a darkened corner of the room, Maxx Fragg watched the young couple huddled on the couch. They had no idea what he had in store for them. He almost felt sorry. Almost. He watched as Travis stroked Debbie’s hand and whispered something in her ear. Maxx locked eyes with her as he moved across the apartment. He saw the desperation mixed with fear in her eyes and he grinned. He liked it that way. Pulling a pair of gloves from his belt, Maxx cinched them tight around his wrists. The rush of adrenaline rose up from his chest. This was far from his first job but he still got a thrill each time. He clicked off the lamp and the room went black.

         Debbie gasped. “Can’t we leave a few lights on?”

         “I prefer to work in the dark. It helps me concentrate,” Maxx said. It really didn’t matter but he felt it intensified the experience.

         “I think I’d rather see what’s coming.” Travis pulled a cushion on his lap, clutching the fabric.

         “Why? You expecting a pillow fight?” Maxx dropped the equipment bag slung over his shoulder.

         Debbie jumped. “What are you going to do with that?”

         “What I’m being paid to do. My job.” Maxx nodded across the room to his partner, who shook his head in disapproval. Bending next to the couch, Maxx slowly unzipped the bag. He was close enough to see the goose bumps on Debbie’s arm rise with each click.

         “I don’t care what it takes. Just get that thing out of my house,” Travis said.

         “Don’t worry. You’ll be ghost free in no time.” Maxx knew his clients needed to believe he could make it better, take away their fears. If only it was that simple. Everyone wanted to name the night, put a label on their personal horrors. He wished someone could shut the door to the monsters in his own closet.


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The Mole Machine

 This is my snippet this week for SFFSat. SFFSat is a place where a number of authors post snippets from their written works, and give the opportunity for comments, support and encouragement. Please also explore the other blogs that are part of this set - you can find the information here.


It's been a few weeks since I last posted. I had hoped that Impcatcher would be due for release shortly, but unfortunately I've had some issues with my intended publishers, and unless things change in the next few weeks I suspect I shall be parting company from them and self-publishing the book instead.

 Until I can confirm what's happening with Impcatcher, I'm going to put up something different. This is a sequence from a novel I worked on for a time, but never managed to get it to work. The structure is steampunk meets lost world, and might well have ended up as a continuation of the story I presented a couple of months ago.

Our heroes are in a lost city. With them is an unpleasant villain, Stalhmor, who until now has been unable to make trouble...

The city was screaming, an impossible shriek like old metal being ripped asunder. The Geharnei were angry ants, thronging the marbled streets in confusion, heads turning as they sought the source of the cacophony. 

Talenne stared at Stahlmor. He was leaning on the balcony, looking out over the city, his evident laugh drowned by the sound throbbing through the crystal towers. Allory was on his feet, pointing towards the arena, his own protests and anger overlaid by the growing roar. Something was churning the ground, the worked stones of the amphitheatre's seating moving like waves in thick oil. Stahlmor was nodding, expectantly, as the tortured stones finally broke apart and a blackened iron and brass screwhead, spinning manically, surged into the bowl of the arena. It thrust further forward, drawing after it a gigantic, heavy torso, two sets of studded tracks glittering in the brilliant sunlight as they churned on each side. The round, heavy, iron-scaled body had to be twelve feet across, segmented like a tapeworm, and already more than twenty feet had hauled itself out of the ground. Steam was venting from brass pipes behind the drillhead. 

The sound had dropped to almost bearable dimensions as the spinning drill no longer savaged the rock beneath Geharne. Talenne could finally hear Stahlmor's harsh laughter. She had preferred the deafening crescendo of the mole machine's arrival.

"You see, Allory?" Stahlmor rasped. "I am no longer powerless."

As always, comments welcomed!

Starwatch Review

Book review:  Starwatch, by Ian Blackport.

Don't take any notice of the title. Starwatch has nothing to do with astronomy – this is a fantasy caper novel. The heroine, Cyriana, is a thief who collects a disparate team of criminals to carry out an audacious heist. The target is Starwatch, a rich and powerful university. The novel charts the preparations, planning and execution of the job, and we get to know the team and some of their stories as the plot progresses. There are a number of twists as the team prepare for the job. If you've see films like The Italian Job then you'll have some idea of the structure. Starwatch is a very good example of taking a genre – in this case the crime novel – and crafting a fantasy version.

Starwatch is not set in an overtly fantasy world - no elves, dwarves or significant magic – but there are enough differences to make it clearly not our Earth (not least the two moons in the sky). The cultures Cyriana sneaks through are well drawn and interesting, the renaissance-style feel to the world is nicely portrayed and is refreshingly unsexist. The book also has enough sly humour to make it a good read.

The plot itself is entertaining, and the characters are complex and individual – Cyriana herself is a great character (I'm always delighted to encounter a strong, capable female lead - Cyriana and Sorrel would get on well), but her comrades in crime are also intriguing (in all senses!). They are none of them flawless, but most are likeable - they are rogues, not monsters. I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and have no hesitation in giving it five stars.

It's available here. 

SFFS 25/7/2015 Impcatcher - Tal and Gustav

This is my snippet this week for SFFS. SFFS is a place where a number of authors post snippets from their written works, and give the opportunity for comments, support and encouragement. Please also explore the other blogs that are part of this set - you can find the information here.

 This is another snippet from Impcatcher. Tal Djandiss, the Impcatcher of the title, is in the marketplace, confronting an orc named Gustav.

Gustav has mottled dark red-grey skin, ivory tusks, muscles, and a propensity for violence. He's almost human in shape, which is one of the reasons I find orcs particularly unsettling – they're too much like us. They also have a taste for members of the opposite sex, not necessarily of their own kind. I was not letting him get anywhere near Ursa.

“What's it to you, Gus?”

He bared his tusks in what I suspect he fondly believed was a smile. “Rorsdack wants the Veil back.”

“He'd look pretty stupid wearing it.”

Gustav didn't even crack a smile. Orcs do have a sense of humour, but the things they find amusing include eviscerations and boiling oil. Real jokes don't amuse them. Nor did my comment, for that matter.

  As always, comments welcomed!

SFFS 18/7/2015 Impcatcher - meet Gustav

This is my snippet this week for SFFS. SFFS is a place where a number of authors post snippets from their written works, and give the opportunity for comments, support and encouragement. Please also explore the other blogs that are part of this set - you can find the information here.

 This is another snippet from Impcatcher. Tal Djandiss, the Impcatcher of the title, is in the marketplace, talking to his favourite sorceress...
 
 

All my attention was on the sorceress before me – I had no warning before a heavy hand slammed into me from behind.

“Where's the Veil, Djandiss?” The voice was angry, harsh and alarmingly familiar. People around us were drawing back, the crowd waiting expectantly in the hopes of violence. I had a nasty suspicion they wouldn't be disappointed.

I'm not small, but I have to look up to Gustav. He stands well over six feet tall, and it's all solid muscle. I'd like to say particularly between the ears, but unfortunately that's not true. Gustav's no philosopher, but he's not an idiot, either. I wouldn't say it in his hearing, but he's good at what he does. Professional. I could have a degree of respect for him, if it wasn't for the nature of the jobs he did, and the people he tended to work for. He never carries a sword; the iron bar he has slung at his belt is more than adequate for his activities.

I drew myself to my full six feet, and stared into his orange eyes. Orcs are violent and aggressive brutes, and Gustav is an exemplary specimen of the race. 

 As always, comments welcomed!