Blog of Author Paul S. Kemp

I’ve been writing professionally for over decade. My books have been reviewed many times during that period. Sometimes I’ve read those reviews with pride, with a smile, a frown, a sense of bemusement, or an expression of WTF. I’ve also read lots of reviews of other author’s works. All of that has allowed me to develop a sense of various reviewers’ styles.

So what follows is a non-exhaustive nomenclature of book reviewer types (and take this in the spirit it’s written, i.e. exaggerated for fun ).

The Professional:  The Professional does just what it says on the tin.  The Professional reviews books for a major publication or site but does so in a way that’s of only moderate use to, you know, actual readers. The Professional isn’t so much interested in prose, plot, or characterization, but moreso in how the book does or does not deconstruct the assumptions of post-modern Western civilization. The Professional despises “fun” books.  He/she writes book reviews primarily for other Professionals(so they can chat at dinner parties), not so much for readers.  Still, the Professional sometimes provides an important viewpoint.  But beware the Jaded Pro, who’s read every damned thing and finds it all just so tedious. The Jaded Pro has “world weary” tattooed across his/her knuckles, wears a t-shirt that says “fuck all this shit” and is basically just phoning it in.

The Semipro a/k/a The Fan. The Semipro is a book blogger, but not a Professional. He/she is just an avid reader who loves the genre he/she reviews. The degree to which a Semipro is educated and/or well-read in the genre varies, but the Semipro writes reviews born of a love for books and does so in the language of a general reader. These are (IMO) the most useful and best reviews, and are often very insightful. Ah, but beware the Fanboy Semipro, who once met G.R.R. Sanderfuss at a con and was immediately smitten. For the Fanboy Semipro all other books must needs be compared against the masterful storytelling of that dreamy G.R.R. Sanderfuss and will inevitably be found wanting in the comparison.

The Smartypants. The Smartypants is a variant on the Semipro, but is different enough to warrant his/her own category. The Smartypants probably holds an advanced degree from a quality university and peppers his/her reviews with words the average reader will need to look up. The Smartypants often has very insightful things to say if one can endure the convoluted way he/she says it. Of course, one must beware The Pseudo-Intellectual Smartypants, who’s not so much interested in reviewing a book as making damned sure that you know he/she has a Ph.d in something and that he/she is one smart cookie. Any review that contains a sentence like, “This reminds me of a passage from [obscure novel], which I read in the original French/Hebrew/Esperanto and….” is strongly indicative of a Pseudo-Intellectual Smartypants.

The Snarker. The Snarker uses book reviewing as a way to demonstrate his/her wit and cleverness. Despite that, the review itself is often quite good (and funny). Unless, of course, one is dealing with the Bitter Snarker. The Bitter Snarker is often an aspiring but unpublished writer, or a writer/editor who’s met with only modest commercial success, and who uses the review as a vehicle to inflict his/her bitterness on the world that wronged him/her, or otherwise refused to acknowledge his/her genius.

The Hater. The Hater is an unpleasant human being who hates every damned book. The Hater writes the first draft of his/her review in smeared shit on the plain gray walls of the one-room garret in which he/she holes up, and from which he/she looks down on the world through eyes nearly blind from spite. Worse still is the -ism Hater. The -ism Hater views the world through the lens of that one undergrad class they took that one time at that one mediocre college, which class “opened their eyes” to the injustice of the world as reflected in their pet -ism. Now the -ism Hater hates every book everywhere for failing to adequately rectify the evil of that -ism. Eventually the -ism Hater grows up or devolves into gibbering madness, either of which is to the good.

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

Tonight a super moon will light the black vault of the sky.  That means this guy rules the night.  I have a soft spot for Moon Knight, as he and Daredevil were the first comics I ever read. 

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

So we’re less than two months from the release date of my sword and sorcery novel, The Hammer and the Blade, forthcoming from Angry Robot Books on June 26th.

As has been my habit, I’m posting a new monthly excerpt below.  Previous excerpts can be found here, here, here, here, here, and here.

I also want to note that anyone pre-ordering the book (or the audio book or the ebook) from any retailer should send me evidence of the purchase so I can say “thanks” by sending you a coupon for a free copy of my ebook short story collection, Ephemera (details are here).  Lots of you have done this already and you have my sincere thanks.  Pre orders are a big deal.

Anyway, on to the excerpt.  This bit finds the boys in the Wastes outside of Dur Follin.

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Men were shouting all around Nix, horses whinnying. Egil shouted his name. He had time enough only to curse, leap to his feet, and put hand to blade hilt before the creatures were upon him. Chaos followed, a mad churn of sound: men screaming, the creatures shrieking and growling, the beat of wings, the snap of fangs.

Nix ducked low, eschewed his falchion, and put a dagger in each hand. He slashed and stabbed at anything within reach. In rough form, the creatures were about the size and shape of a goose. Leathery skin covered their bodies, and four overlapping membranous wings sprouted from their backs. Their necks ended in sleek heads. Small, red eyes perched over mouths lined with tiny fangs. Their taloned claws looked like those of a raptor. They shrieked, growled, and hissed as they swarmed.

A creature tore at Nix’s arm, a claw scratched his hand and cheek, and another creature landed on his back and sank its teeth into his scalp. He shouted with pain, reached back, grabbed it, and threw its fluttering form to the earth. He stomped it to death as he slashed another of the creatures hovering before him and snapping at his face. The fiends were everywhere, shrieking, biting, tearing exposed flesh.

One landed on his legs, talons sinking into flesh, biting at his thigh. Another one appeared, diving for his face, clawed feet and toothy mouth snapping at his eyes and nose. He reeled backward, ducking, stumbling through several more, slashing as he went, severed wings and legs and throats. But for every creature he killed, another took its place, another. Teeth sank into his ear; claws dug into his scalp. He roared and twirled, stabbing and slashing wildly.

Egil did the same five paces from him, the priest’s shouts like the bellows of an angry bull. His hammers spun through the air so fast they hummed, pulping the creatures three and four at a swing. All around the campsite, the other guards were shrieking, bleeding. Blood dripped into Nix’s eyes from his wounded scalp. Already his arms were tiring. Panic fogged the air along with the screams.

The horses, unyoked from the wagons for the night but tethered to outcroppings of rock, whinnied and stomped, trapped by their tethers. Dozens of the creatures landed on the poor animals and tore at their flesh. The horses bucked, bellowed, pulled at their reins, heads shaking, muscles straining.

“Save the horses!” Baras shouted, and several of his guards ran for the animals through the cloud of creatures. They chopped wildly with their blades as they ran.

One of the guards, separated from the others, went down. Nix ran for him, but more than a dozen of the creatures swarmed him. Teeth snapped before his eyes, sank into his hands, causing him to curse and drop a dagger. He drew another as he recoiled from the creatures, slashing and stabbing those he could reach.

“Help! Get them off!” the downed guard called.

The creatures squawked and swarmed the guard until he was covered in a blanket of their scaled bodies. He dropped his weapon, his arms flailing wildly, desperately, screaming in terror and pain.

Baras and Egil roared and charged toward the fallen man from opposite directions, but before they could get to him, the creatures had sunk their talons into his flesh and clothes and lifted him into the air. He hung limp in their collective grasp, perhaps already dead, arms and legs dangling like a doll’s. Egil leaped for him but the man was already out of reach.

Baras cursed and, shielding his head and face, ran to help his men in protecting the horses. Egil fell in with him. The draft animals were panicked, kicking and whinnying, and Baras went down trying to dodge a kick from one of them. Egil grabbed him by the collar and pulled him away, and together with the other guards they beat back a furious attack from scores of the flying creatures.

“Everyone here!” Egil called. “We need to fight together! Nix!”

Nix slashed a creature tearing at his arm, stomped another on the ground, cleared the air before him with a furious series of slashes. The creatures formed a cloud around him, an endless flutter of wings, snapping teeth, and slashing talons. Bleeding and fatigued, Nix made a run for the horses, slashing furiously as he ran. Blood ran into his eyes, blinded him, and he stumbled on rock, fell.

The moment he hit the ground dozens of the creatures landed on him, ripping his clothes and flesh, tearing at his leather jack. One bit the back of his neck, his scalp again, tearing loose a clump of hair. Another bit his ear. He tried to roll over and bring his blades to bear, but before he could he felt the sickening, terrifying feeling of his body being lifted up. Two score of the creatures at least clutched him by his flesh and his clothes and were bearing him into the air. He watched in horror as the ground fell away beneath him. He flashed on an image of himself carried into one of the holes in the earth they’d seen earlier, his body reduced to bones, made part of a mound of the dead. Panic lent him strength. He kicked and squirmed frenetically, desperately.

“Egil! Egil!”

He tried to turn his body, slash with his blade, but only managed to writhe to no effect. A talon tore a furrow in his cheek, narrowly missing his eye. He twisted and squirmed wildly, fueled by fear and adrenaline. He managed to dislodge enough of the creatures that they lost some altitude, but they did not release him. Teeth sank into his legs, his arms. Blood dripped from his wounds, dotted the earth. He started to rise again.

“Shite! Egil!”

He glimpsed Egil a fraction of a second before the priest leaped high for him and tackled him back to earth. Nix felt the squirming, fluttering death throes of several of the creatures crushed between his body and the earth. He rolled to the side and climbed to his feet, swinging his blade at the hissing creatures attacking him from all sides. Egil did the same, his hammers reaping the creatures in twos and threes.

The priest grabbed Nix by the arm and propelled him along toward Baras and the horses, fending off the creatures as best he could with one hammer.

“I’m good,” Nix said, shaking his arm free and stabbing a creature with his dagger.

“Maybe put on some weight though, eh?” Egil said, grinning, his face bloody and torn.

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

Continuing my monthly series of posts to help raise awareness of the books coming out from the three publishers with whom I work:  What’s new in May in the land of raging robotamatons, the realms forgotten, and the galaxy so very far, far away? Let’s see.

From Angry Robot, we have Evil Dark, by Justin Gustainis. This sounds very cool. From the back matter:

My name’s Markowski. I carry a badge. Also a crucifix, some wooden stakes, big vial of holy water and a 9mm Beretta loaded with silver bullets.

A series of seemingly motiveless murders of supernatural creatures points to a vigilante targeting the supe community of Scranton.

Markowski wouldn’t normally have much of a problem with that, but his daughter may be next on the killer’s list…

In the galaxy far, far away we have the mass market paperback re-issue of Deceived, written by me. I’d hoped the mmpb would also include my Malgus short story from Star Wars Insider, “The Third Lesson,” but I’m not sure if it does. If anyone knows, please let me know. Meanwhile, from the back matter:

A Sith warrior to rival the most sinister of the Order’s Dark Lords, Darth Malgus brought down the Jedi Temple on Coruscant in a brutal assault that shocked the galaxy. But if war crowned him the darkest of Sith heroes, peace will transform him into something far more heinous—something Malgus would never want to be but cannot stop becoming, any more than he can stop the rogue Jedi fast approaching. Her name is Aryn Leneer—and the lone Jedi Knight that Malgus cut down in the fierce battle for the Jedi Temple was her Master. Now she’s going to find out what happened to him, even if it means breaking every rule in the book.

And in the Forgotten Realms, we have the second War of the Spider Queen omnibus, which collects Extinction (by Lisa Smedman), Annihilation (by Phil Athans), and Resurrection (by me). Get your drow fix on (read my thoughts and some trivia on the series here). From the back matter:

The War of the Spider Queen–the epic, six-book series from the fertile imaginations of R.A. Salvatore and a select group of the Forgotten Realms best-selling authors–begins here. Ten years after its initial publication, we are packaging this ground-breaking series in two attractive collector’s editions.

Happy reading! 

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

This month the second War of the Spider Queen Omnibus will be released, marking the ten year anniversary of the series (this second omnibus collects Extinction, Annihilation, and Resurrection).  Hard to believe that so much time has passed.

WotSQ was the second multi-author series I worked on for Wizards of the Coast.  Sembia was the first, but the two series were quite different.  With the Sembia series, each of the seven authors had their own character (Erevis Cale, in my case) and told their own story, albeit in a shared setting and with considerable crossover between characters.  In that respect, Sembia was very much like Thieves’ World.  WotSQ, on the other hand, involved six authors writing one collective story and using the same characters.  As you can imagine, this presented some creative challenges and made the hand-off from book to book key.  This could only work well if all the writers and editors involved were talented pros. Fortunately that was the case with WotSQ.

For my part, Resurrection was the hardest book I’ve ever written.  There were a couple reasons for that. First, I wasn’t originally pegged to write it; someone else was, but that fell through for some reason. So I came into the series late, without having followed it beforehand. Hello, crash course.  Second, I was writing characters that I hadn’t created, so they didn’t really feel mine at first.  That changed while I wrote the book, though, and by the end I felt very comfortable with Halisstra (she really gets put through her paces and undergoes a lot of development) and Pharaun.  Third, there was a creative constraint that I had to work around.  Just one, but it was a biggie: I was told how the book had to end.  I could get there any way I wanted, but it had to end a particular way.  I’d never had to work that way before and, I’ll admit, it bugged me at first.  But it worked out fine. In the end, the whole experience was great and I’m delighted that the series has been so widely read, and continues to be, even ten years later.

And now some trivia (with SPOILERS):

When WotC offered me the opportunity to write Resurrection, I had just finished Dawn of Night and was starting on Midnight’s Mask.  My editor at the time, Phil Athans, told me that if I wanted to do the Spider Queen wrap-up, WotC could delay the release of Midnight’s Mask.  I didn’t like that idea (because even then I regarded Cale as my signature character and I didn’t want to delay the release of the third book of the trilogy) but Phil talked me into it and I’m glad he did.

As a result of the last minute author switch I mentioned above, I had to write Resurrection on a very tight deadline.  Very stressful.  Not sure I could or would do that today.

In my initial outline of the book, Gromph Baenre died in magical combat with the Lichdrow. We changed that in a subsequent iteration and Gromph survives the fall of House Agrach Dyrr – barely.

In my first draft of the book(or maybe just the outline, I can’t remember) Pharaun lived.  In the published book, he does not.

Originally I named the various places in the Demonweb Pits with Dante-esque sounding names.  I don’t remember any in particular, but they would have been something like “The Pillars of Transgression” and the like.  We cut those and replaced them with more Drowish sounding names.

I’m particularly proud of my invention of The Seething, which squicked out some readers.    I love it as a reflection of Lolth’s doctrine.

I’ve gotten more reader mail about Resurrection than any book I’ve written (save perhaps The Old Republic: Deceived).  Readers loved the book passionately or hated it with the heat of ten thousand suns.  Very few felt indifferent.  The death of Pharaun was the particular event that inspired the most vitriol (by far).

Resurrection has sold more copies than any other book I’ve written.  It’s ten years old, of course, so it’s had a long time to build up sales, but it’s still done very well. In English, the book has sold somewhere between 200,000-300,000 copies (across all formats) and continues to sell strongly today.  It’s been translated into (I think) upwards of a dozen languages, but I have no idea of actual unit sales in foreign countries.  Probably a lot though. So, you know, rock on, you Drow bastards.

Finally, I want to note my enormous gratitude to Phil Athans and R.A. Salvatore for letting me contribute to the series and for being such excellent editors.  It was a blast and it’s something I’m proud to have been a part of.

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

Velocity of sales in the first week of a book’s release are important, and pre-orders are a big help in ramping up that velocity.  So I’d obviously love it if you pre-ordered The Hammer and the Blade, my forthcoming sword and sorcery novel from Angry Robot Books.

To encourage pre-orders (and as a way of saying “thanks”), I’d like to give a free digital copy of Ephemera, my dark short story collection (in Kindle, ePub, or pdf format; your choice), to everyone who pre-orders The Hammer and the Blade.

Accordingly, if you pre-order The Hammer and the Blade and also want a digital copy of Ephemera, just email me (at paulsvantekemp at yahoo dot com) evidence of the pre-order and I’ll send you a coupon code for a free copy of Ephemera.  Easy peasy.  I hope you’ll take advantage of the offer. 

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

So, you’re an author, and you want get your signal heard in the noise of the marketplace.  What do you do?  Here’s my best advice:

Write a great book.*

That’s it.

__________________________________

*Obviously there are a lot of social media/marketing things you can and probably should do.  But having done this a long time, having watched the careers of other writers at a distance, I can tell you that the best and most important thing you can do is write a great book and tell a great story.  With very rare exceptions (which exceptions would include big marketing budgets, and few of us get that), you can’t manufacture hype.  A book has to come by it honestly, which means readers must love your work enough to talk about it/recommend it/review it.  And that means telling them a great story.  So don’t spend a bunch of time planning a social media strategy.  Instead, spend a bunch of time polishing the story.  Fin.

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

The giveaway of two signed ARCs of The Hammer and the Blade is concluded.  I used random.org to choose two random winners from all the entrants and they are:

Tom S. and Peter A.

Each of you please send me an email at paulsvantekemp at yahoo dot com and we’ll figure out the dedication and shipping address and whatnot.

On a related note, I really appreciate the enthusiasm everyone showed.  I’m excited about the novel and it’s nice to know that many of you are, too.  I think you’re going to dig it muchly.

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

I’m holding a giveaway of two signed Advance Reader Copies (ARCs) of The Hammer and the Blade (Amazon, B&N), my sword and sorcery novel forthcoming from Angry Robot Books.  That’s them in the picture and they look great.

To enter the giveaway, just leave a comment to this blog post.  As always, please enter only once and use a username that’s reasonably distinctive.  I’ll choose two entrants at random next Friday at noon and announce them on the blog.

As to shipping costs:  I’ll bear the cost of shipping to U.S. addresses.  If you’re international, I’ll bear the first $5USD of the international shipping charges, but you’ll have to Paypal me the difference (if any).

So, I hope you’ll enter.  It’s a good book and you’ll enjoy it.  Meanwhile, excerpts from The Hammer and the Blade are available here, here, here,  here, and here.  Two early reviews of the novel are here and here.

See?  They liked it.  So will you. 

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

It’s April, so let’s see what’s new this month in the Forgotten Realms, in the Galaxy far, far away, and from Angry Robot Books.

From Angry Robot we have Blackbirds, by Chuck Wendig (proprietor of Terribleminds).  The novel has been getting great reviews and has an intriguing premise.  From the back matter:

Miriam Black knows when you will die.

Still in her early twenties, she’s foreseen hundreds of car crashes, heart attacks, strokes, suicides, and slow deaths by cancer. But when Miriam hitches a ride with truck driver Louis Darling and shakes his hand, she sees that in thirty days Louis will be gruesomely murdered while he calls her name.

Miriam has given up trying to save people; that only makes their deaths happen. But Louis will die because he met her, and she will be the next victim. No matter what she does she can’t save Louis. But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll have to try.

And in the Forgotten Realms, we have the first half of R.A. Salvatore’s War of the Spider Queen Omnibus, the 10 year anniversary edition, which collects Dissolution (by Richard Lee Byers), Insurrection (by Thomas Reid), and Condemnation (by Richard Baker). The second part of the Omnibus, which includes the final three books of the series, will be released next month. From the back matter:

The War of the Spider Queen–the epic, six-book series from the fertile imaginations of R.A. Salvatore and a select group of the Forgotten Realms best-selling authors–begins here. Ten years after its initial publication, we are packaging this ground-breaking series in two attractive collector’s editions.

Dissolution: While their whole world is changing around them, four dark elves struggle against different enemies. Yet their paths will lead them all to the most terrifying discovery in the long history of the drow and set them on a quest to save not only Menzoberranzan but the entire dark elf race from dissolution.

Insurrection: A hand-picked team of the most capable drow adventurers begin a perilous journey through the treacherous Underdark, all the while surrounded by the chaos of war. Their path will take them through the very heart of darkness, and the Underdark will be shaken to its core. If the powerful dark elves falter, the world below is open for insurrection.

Condemnation: From the burning sand of Anauroch to the labyrinthine Underdark, an epic quest for the very essence of the Spider Queen takes one startling turn after another. Powerful forces are at work to discover where Lolth has gone. She may return as something greater than she was, or she may have gone from her drow children forever, leaving them to their own devices in a chilling condemnation.

And in the galaxy far, far away we have Scourge, by the most excellent Jeff Grubb. Jeff can tell a great yarn, so this should be fun. From the back matter:

In the heart of crime-ridden Hutt Space, a Jedi Scholar searches for justice.  While trying to obtain the coordinates of a secret, peril-packed, but potentially beneficial trade route, a novice Jedi is killed—and the motive for his murder remains shrouded in mystery. Now his former Master, Jedi archivist Mander Zuma, wants answers, even as he fights to erase doubts about his own abilities as a Jedi. What Mander gets is immersion into the perilous underworld of the Hutts as he struggles to stay one step ahead in a game of smugglers, killers, and crime lords bent on total control.

So there it is!  Happy reading.

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

I’m 43 today.  Time to come clean.

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

It’s April, and that means it’s time for another monthly excerpt from The Hammer and the Blade (Amazon, B&N).  As always, the goal here is to give you a sense of the novel’s tone.  Previous excerpts are here, here, here,  here, and here.  Early reviews of the novel are here and here.

Also, I received a quote about the novel from Jim Lowder, a writer and editor for whom I have enormous respect, and he said this:

The Hammer and the Blade is a gritty, rollicking yarn that captures the essence of sword & sorcery adventure. A tale of lost treasures and lusty demons that Egil and Nix are sharing right now somewhere, bellied up to a tavern bar with Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, Conan, and, of course, Kemp’s own Erevis Cale.

I like that very much.

Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this month’s excerpt.  As always, our boys are in trouble.

__________________________

By the time the water clock tolled three hours past deepnight, the Tunnel was almost empty. A few drunks slouched over tables, sleeping. Gadd and Egil escorted them out the door and Gadd made a half-hearted attempt at sweeping the floor.

Nix’s eyes kept going to the stairway. No one had emerged from the upstairs pleasure rooms for hours. Nix didn’t think any patrons remained up there, or at least he hoped not. In his mind’s eye, he saw Kiir… servicing that country hob, and it bothered him more than he liked to admit.

Gadd’s cups, tankards, and platters stood arrayed behind the bar in formation, an army of ceramic and tin. Nix put Kiir from his mind and tried to fight down yawns.

“You can go, Gadd,” he said to the towering tapkeep. “We’ll close up.” He gestured at himself and Egil and spoke slowly. “We will close.”

Gadd seemed to take his point and nodded. He gathered his cloak, smiled, showing eye teeth filed to sharp points, and took his leave.

“What do you suppose his story is?” Nix said. “Got more ink on his arms than a sorcerer’s spellbook. And those teeth.”

“He’s from the east and brews the gods’ own ale,” Egil said. “That’s all I know and all I need to know.”

“Speaking of his ale,” Nix said, and jumped over the bar. He shook the last tapped hogshead and it sloshed satisfactorily. “Still half-full.”

“Let’s remedy that.”

“Aye.”

Nix placed the sloshing barrel on the bar and drew two tankards.

“To ownership, then,” Nix said, hoisting his tankard.

“Ha!” Egil said, and bumped it with his own. “To an eventful first day.”

“Agreed.”

They sat at the bar, their bar, for the next hour. They sat in comfortable silence, as only friends can do, with Ool’s clock tolling the time, the Lord Mayor’s portrait staring down at them, and Egil tossing his dice to no apparent purpose. Before long Egil had his head down, snoring on the bar, the eye of Ebenor tattooed on his head keeping watch on the priest’s behalf.

Nix continued his war with yawns, shaking the hogshead from time to time, determined to finish it for no reason other than a sense of completion.

When the dissonant notes of Ool’s clock proclaimed the fourth hour after deepnight, Kulven had set and Minnear rode high in the vault. Viridian light leaked through the Tunnel’s windows to stain the floor, the mullions putting a crosshatch on the floor. By then, Nix was done. Fatigue and drink blurred his vision. He slid from the stool, leaned on it for a moment to steady himself. He was drunker than he’d realized. He staggered for the doors.

The common room felt enormous with no one in it. Dying embers crackled in the huge hearth. Nix stumbled, caught his balance on the hearth, and patted it appreciatively.

Made from mortared stones tossed up onto the banks of the Meander by the river’s slow current, the hearth struck Nix as one of the sturdiest things he’d ever seen. He imagined all of Dur Follin could fall and the hearth and chimney of the Slick Tunnel would remain, keeping company with the Archbridge, jutting out of the ruins like a stone giant’s erection.

The image made him chuckle, and chuckling made him lightheaded, and lightheadedness caused him to hook a foot on the leg of a chair as he walked. He stumbled and fell to the floor, cursing. Face down on the wood floor, he called for Egil. A snort and an inarticulate mumble answered him. He chuckled, rose to all fours, and the door of the Tunnel flew open. Through the table and chair legs he saw boots, five pairs, presumably attached to legs.

“We’re closed,” he said, using the end of a table to pull himself up. “Just neglected to bar the–”

Five men stood just inside the doorway, the four men Nix and Egil had made earlier as city watch, and the loudmouthed hiresword with the thin mustache whom Egil had punched in the face. Loudmouth had a shine on his right eye and a nasty grin on his thin lips. The rest had ill intent written on their faces.

“Shite,” Nix said.

Beard spoke with the voice of a man used to being obeyed. “Nix Fall and Egil of Ebenor, you are both hereby detained under the authority of the Lord Mayor.”

Egil groaned, lumbered up from his stool, and stood there swaying and squinting.

“What is all this now? Lord Mayor what?”

“How things looking now, slubber?” said the hiresword to Nix.

Nix didn’t quite understand how the hiresword connected to the watchmen, but the threat of arrest helped clear the mold from his mind. He steadied himself on the back of a chair.

“I’m sure we can work this out,” he said. “Now–”

“If you resist, we are authorized to use force,” said Beard.

“Egil’s voice boomed from behind Nix. “I asked: what is this now?”

The hiresword sneered. “This is you getting payback, priest.”

The sound of opening doors carried from the second floor of the Tunnel, the murmur of voices.

“Stay up there,” shouted Beard. “Everyone stay up there. We are on the Lord Mayor’s business.”

Tesha’s voice carried down from the top of the stairs. “How do we know you speak truth?”

“Just do as I say, woman!” said Beard, and nodded at one of his guards, who bounded up the stairs, drawing his blade as he went.

“Back,” the man at the top of the stairs said. “Stay back by authority of the Lord Mayor.”

Nix heard angry grumbling from Tesha and her workers.

“It’ll be fine, Tesha,” Nix called, still trying to make sense of what was happening. “Egil and I will work this out.”

“I know how you two work things out!” she shot back.

Nix’s words seemed to relax Beard. To Nix, he said, “Now you’re talking sense. So just come along and–”

“I said we’d work it out,” Nix said. “But I meant with blood. Mostly yours. Maybe you understood me to mean something else?”

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

Rob Bedford (of SFFWorld and Rob’s Blog o’ Stuff) reviews my sword and sorcery novel, The Hammer and the Blade (forthcoming from Angry Robot Books in late June 2012).

You can read the full review here.  It contains no spoilers.  Rob has many nice things to say but this is, by far, my favorite bit from the review:

“To say these characters and this story is a love letter to Fritz Lieber would be selling Kemp short of what he’s done.  In Egil and Nix, he’s given readers possible long-distant cousins to Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser….”

Everyone who knows me knows how much I love Leiber’s Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser tales, so I consider this high praise indeed.  My thanks to Rob for the review. 

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

The Most Excellent Interplanar Adventure of Bill, Ted, and Erevis Cale (from my Erevis Cale novels) continues this week with Cale facing Kylar Stern, from Brent Weeks’ The Night Angel Trilogy.

As this features an assassin v. an assassin, uh, there will be blood.

As I’ve been doing all along, I wrote this write-up as part of the same, coherent story that’s been slowly unfolding as the cagematch progresses.  Makes it more fun for me that way.  I know many authors take the humorous angle when doing these write-ups (and some have been hilarious) but I opted to play it straight (for now) and try to string them all into a single story.

I hope you enjoy.  The beginning of the write up is below.  Have a read and then head to Suvudu to vote.

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Cale sat in the center of Elgrin Fau’s ancient graveyard, surrounded by the dead, shrouded in the perpetual night of the Shadowfell. A crumbling temple to some long-forgotten god brooded over the graves, supervising the decay. Above, the interplanar rift split the starless sky. It was leagues wide and still growing, spitting green, sickly energy into the multiverse.

It would destroy everything unless Cale closed it, unless he stopped Anomander Rake.

The ground shook, gave a pained groan, existence fraying at the edges.  A thunderhead loomed to the west, a rolling mountain of black clouds veined with yellow and green lightning. Universes were folding in on themselves.

Cale did not have much time left.

He ticked off the names of those he’d killed while making his way to Rake:  Rico, Tannen, Morgan. Cale was already tired, tired in his bones from carrying the weight of those murders. None of three had done anything to earn them. They’d just been in his way, standing on the ground between him and Rake, and each one he’d killed had eroded his soul a bit more.

He accepted that – what other choice did he have? – but he didn’t know how much more murder he had in him.

His divinations had provided him more names, victims he’d have to cut through to get to Rake – Kelsier, Moraine, Wednesday, Kylar Stern, others.

He thought about those names a long time, the shadows swirling around him, and mustered what resolve he could dredge from his fading will. In time he stood and said the name of his next victim aloud, a small honor to presage a murder.

“Kylar Stern.”

He started to draw the shadows about him, preparing to move between worlds, but a soft, cold voice from behind halted him.

“Erevis Cale.”

Cale turned, saw a man standing ten paces from him. He was younger than Cale, medium build, cloaked, non-descript but for the weapons he wore: an anyman, perfect for a killer. Cale could guess his name. The multiverse must have grown impatient with Cale’s hesitation.

“Kylar Stern,” he said, not a question.

The man nodded from within his cloak. “You were about to go find me. About to go kill me.”

Cale didn’t bother to deny it. He looked up at the rift, then back at Kylar. “I don’t have any choice.”

“Then I don’t either,” Kylar said.

And with that he drew blades and bounded over the graves toward Cale, his movements preternaturally fast.

Cale barely managed to clear Weaveshear from its scabbard before Kylar was upon him, spinning, ducking, lunging, slashing. Cale stumbled backward, parrying as best he could with his larger blade, but stabs were everywhere. Kylar was a whirlwind made of sharp edges.

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You can read the rest, and vote, by clicking here.

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.

The Suvudu Science Fiction and Fantasy Character Cagematch continues.  So far, Cale has faced and eked past Johnny Rico, from Heinlein’s Starship Troopers, and Jean Tannen, from Lynch’s The Lies of Locke Lamora.  Now he runs into the Kim Harrison buzzsaw, facing Rachel Morgan, from the Hollows series.

As you can see from my previous write ups, I’m trying to string these together into a coherent story.  Putting together these write ups is fun, but trying to connect them into a single, overarching story makes them even more fun — let’s call it “Erevis Cale’s Excellent Multiversal Adventure.”

*Cue Wyld Stallions guitar riffs*

Anyway, Cale’s going to need every vote he can get to move past this round, so, if you’re a Cale fan and/or are enjoying the write-ups, please head on over, have a read, and then vote.

The opening of the write up is below.  I hope you enjoy.

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Lightning painted jagged green lines on the starless vault of the Shadowfell’s sky. Thunder rumbled, a deep groan, as if the world were in pain.

And Cale supposed it was.

Shadows roiled around him, their dark churn a reflection of his thoughts. He stood on a balcony in the highest tower of his basalt citadel, staring up at the glowing gash in the sky.

The rift hadn’t shrunk. Cale had murdered two people, thinking that would close and end the crossovers that were destabilizing the multiverse. But the blood he’d spilled had been a libation to indifferent gods. The rift remained as it had been, several leagues wide, glowing green and blue and yellow, a bruise-colored hole in the fabric of the multiverse.

If it weren’t closed soon, he knew, it would consume everything. Everyone everywhere would die. The multiverse would end in nothingness.

He had to learn more of its origin.

Intoning the words to a powerful divination, he smeared shadows across the air before his face, read the meaning in their pattern, in their swirling whorls and spirals. Words came to him, alien words that originated on alien worlds, names of beings he never should have known: Kylar Stern, Revan, Kelsier, Rachel Morgan.

And every name was a symptom of the multiverse’s sickness.  All of those beings stood between him and his ability to seal the rift.  The rift….

He focused the energy of his spell on the rift, looking for a magical signature, anything that would tell him of its origin.  And he soon had it.

His spell pulled a presence from the shadows, showed him the cause of the rift, the towering, dark presence that loomed behind it all, a being with the power of a god, a being whose name Cale now knew.

Anomander Rake.

Rake was responsible for the rift.  Rake was responsible for everything.

Cale would have to find him, and then find a way to kill him.

But others stood in the way, beings Rake was using to thwart any attempt to stop him and seal the rift.

Cale would have to kill them first.

He picked a name at random from those he had learned.

Rachel Morgan would be the next to die.

He drew Weaveshear, hooked the foci of his divination onto Rachel Morgan’s name, and so learned the location to which he must travel.

Thunder rumbled anew as he drew the darkness about him, stepped through the shadows, and went off to kill.

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Please click here to read the rest and then vote. 

Originally published at Paul S. Kemp, Fictioneer. You can comment here or there.