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REVIEW: Steel, Blood, and Fire by Allan Bachelder

I like my fantasy pitch black and unapologetically adult. It’s a subgenre that has favored stalwart artists like Joe Abercrombie, Mark Lawrence, and Richard K. Morgan. It has also provided opportunities for newcomers like M.L. Spencer, Rob J. Hayes, and Richard Nell. Now a new name can be added to the latter with Allan Batchelder’s Steel, Blood, and Fire.

Steel, Blood, and Fire is about a Conan: The Barbarian-esque hero who gets hired by a corrupt old queen to take down a genocidal warlord whose armies are marching through her lands like a swarm of locusts. No one in this trio is a good person but whoever brings the conflict to an end swiftest will get to bear the mantle of hero.

Vylers is a once-great warrior who is a little past his prime and only going to go downhill from here. It’s a sorry fate for a warrior and he is less than pleased about it. However, younger heroes and villains have risen that threaten to dwarf his legend. One of these is the “End of All Things” who is a madman possessed of mystical powers that allows him to ravage across the land, recruiting the survivors into his ever-growing army.

The End of All Things has no desire other than to plunder and forge an ever greater brutal legend for himself. Vykers is no saint and is more confused at this genocidal campaign than repulsed but finds himself recruited by the “Virgin Queen” (a bitter old crone) to eliminate him–because what else is he going to do with his remaining years? It helps that he has a ghost in his head forcing him to act to his quest (or he will lose the one thing he has left: his fighting prowess).

This is not a book primarily centered about Vykers, though, but a story told from multiple points of view in a fantasy war. The End of All Things is a somewhat one-dimensional madman but everyone else is kind of an asshole too. Vykers is more Logen Nine Fingers than heroic paladin but there’s an entire company of peasant warriors just trying to survive the war and make a bit of money on the side. I’m also a fan of Aoife as a young nun-like witch is forced from one trauma to another due to the evil afflicting her brother.

Allan Batchelder is a master of combining the hilarious with the horrifying. One of the earliest scenes in the book is a young boy being told he’s the Chosen One in order for the aforementioned peasants to impress him and send him off to the war. They’re terrible at it but their mark is dumber than a sackfull of rats. Hypocrisy and greed are the primary attributes of his characters and it just makes them all the more enjoyable.

I’m a fan of the characters who manage to be distinct and entertaining throughout. The mercenaries are a bumbling band of fools who are, probably, going to get themselves killed but that isn’t something they worry about since they might get paid before it happens. Vykers is also an arrogant blowhard who, despite suffering recent injuries, is eager to get back to doing the very things which got him in trouble in the first place. He’s also stuck with a moralizing ghost in his head which doesn’t want to share his form when he goes whoring about. Arune is wise but frequently exasperated with his barbarian “partner.” I’m also a fan of Aoife as a young nun-like witch is forced from one trauma to another due to the evil afflicting her brother.

The world-building is consistent but minimalist. This book doesn’t waste time with descriptions of ancient histories, Gondor’s relationships with Numenor, and other tidbits. Instead, we meet the queen, we meet her rivals, and we find out about ancient lost cities when they need to be visiting. This isn’t a bad thing, though, because the world maintains some mystery and it has enough character so as not to be a generic setting either. The book has a lot of show, don’t tell, which I appreciated. We get insight into how the people live by having characters talk about it and that works far better than trying to describe the details. It’s a dirty, smelly, sleazy sort of kingdom and that comes across through the characters.

The action in the book is great with the fights being quick, brutal, and unromantic. Vykers is reputed to be a legendary warrior who could kill two hundred men but he’s “only” able to kill about six at a time. There’s a sort of Howardian feel to things that is mixed with an unromantic working class sensibility to the heroes. One of them is a gigolo, for example, and he discusses (at length) how his business works in a Medieval fantasy world. Magic is shown to be useful but not overwhelming, allowing armies and regular warriors to be relevant.

In conclusion, this book is just fun and I’m eager to read the rest of the books in the series. The humor, action, and cynical world are all things which made it an enjoyable reading experience. People should definitely check this out as a great example of indie grimdark. You won’t regret picking it up.

Buy Steel, Blood and Fire by Allan Batchelder

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EXCERPT: Violya by Rosalyn Kelly

After enjoying Melokai (review | excerpt) by Rosalyn Kelly so much, we were keen as mustard to get a hold of book 2 in the In the Heart of the Mountains series. And while our team is working on a review of the book, the author was swish enough to give us chapter one of Violya and we are really excited to share it with you!

Violya
Chapter 1

“Cockfaces,” the warrior Violya hissed as the enemy’s ramshackle camp came into view.

In the dead of night, lit only by the camp’s pathetic fires that spat and sizzled against the heavy snowfall, a small, deadly force of one hundred Peqkian warriors and one hundred Jute fighters silently climbed down the mountain slope.

The winding trail wasn’t an option. Now plugged with deep snow, it was being watched by twitchy desert cammers, posted on the perimeter while their comrades slept. The soldiers huddled together, shivering violently. Misshapen, ugly humps poked out of thin, wretched uniforms not suitable for the cold weather.

The cammer soldiers eyed the rocky incline and the trail which they’d come from, surveying the dark, ominous hunks of jagged rock and looming boulders. The dwindling flames cast long shadows, and heads jerked at any hint of movement. Their white-knuckled, trembling hands gripped their swords. As if their weapons would save them.

Every now and then they glanced desperately at the start of the snaking path that led down the southern slopes and across the wastelands. A four-day trek away was the border to their own miserable sand-choked nation. But they hadn’t made it to the dunes in time.

V had caught up to them. And now they would pay.

The Dromedars were crammed in the middle of a large, flat area of the mountains that jutted out with a sharp cliff below. In the shadows of the huge boulders, where this level expanse met the mountain slope, V eased herself gently from the rocks, meticulously placing one foot then the next in the snow.

Having left their bulky fur coats, gloves and movement-hindering wrappings back at their camp with the animals, the Peqkians and Jutes deftly landed around her.

“Tents,” the warrior Lizya whispered to V. “First we’ve seen.”

In the midst of the camp were seven small tents for the important cammers, the animal hide sagging under the settling snow. For three weeks V’s small force had driven the hump-backed invaders out of the capital, out of the country, nipped and harried at their heels, and picked off the stragglers. These one thousand soldiers were the last dregs of the Dromedar army that remained in Peqkya.

“The male-child cammer has to be here,” V said.

She itched to finish him. In a moment of uncharacteristic emotion back in Riaow, she’d had the chance to slice the zhaq Crown Prince of Drome in two but she’d toyed with him, wanted to torture him for what he’d done, for who he’d murdered. But he’d got away, minus his arms, and she was racked with guilt that gnawed at her. The regret strangled her every thought, like ivy twisting around a tree.

Foolish mistake, warrior, V berated herself again. But he was here. He had to be. And she’d have her vengeance.

The magic in V’s blood pulsed in her ears.

Oh, use me, use me, use meee! We’ll wreak devastation bigger than the world has ever seen… a rain of rocks to crush their cammer bodies… a flood of epic proportions to drown them all… a surge of wind to shove them over the edge of the cliff… a…

Be quiet, V snapped, we have a plan. The magic retreated, simmering in her veins. Her long-repressed power had erupted during the battle in Riaow but had been silent since. She would learn how to master it from the Stone Prophetess Sybilya, but until then, she couldn’t risk using it and unleashing more harm than good.

The Jutes formed into tight rows, their copious weapons on show: blades of all sizes, throwing stars and axes. The pink-skinned, intricately inked creatures from the rainforest realm of Majute stood no taller than V’s belly. Their small frames barely dented the calf-high snow.

V and her warriors shifted behind, soundlessly drawing their swords. The crackling fires and fitful hum of snoring cammers the only noise.

In the gloom, the Jute captain Brinjinqa bowed low to her, his blue hair fashioned into spikes just missing her hands.

“My dear, V,” Brin said with a twinkle in his black beady eyes that always seemed to be looking everywhere at once, “we thank you for the opportunity to use this.” He held up the vial of red liquid that hung around his neck and chuckled to himself.

Ridiculously strong pitfire juice, he’d called it. Pitfire was a crop grown in Majute. She’d first seen it when she’d ventured there leading a Peqkian trading party. When boiled and prepared as a drink it was as potent as wine or poppy.

It was a risk.

The Jutes hadn’t requested to use it until now and she had no idea what it would do. She’d only seen people drunk and lethargic on it. But the deep snow was no obstacle for the light-footed Jutes and, as her force was outnumbered, the attack required speed. She trusted Brin. His ruler had sent him and his fighters with V. They had fought bravely beside the Peqkians since the invasion and were yet to take any casualties.

Brin whispered to V, “When we slow, it’s safe to approach, as the pitfire will be wearing off. When we are in the high state, we cannot tell friend from foe, only others of our kind.”

She nodded and Brin’s large grin revealed front teeth that had been filed to sharp points.

He unstoppered the vial from around his neck and held it up to his face. One hundred Jutes did the same in complete unison. As one, each took the tiniest sip, carefully replaced the stopper, shuddered, and set off across the snow at such a speed that the Peqkians were momentarily left behind.

“Ack, ack, ack!” The Jutes’ war cry increased in volume as they got closer to the camp.

“Love those crazy little freaks,” the warrior Finya said.

Mangled shouts rose from the soldiers on guard as a sea of acking creatures smashed into them. The Jutes swirled like a tornado tossing cammers out of the way or trampling them flat to the ground. The Jute twister swept nearer and nearer to the tents on a random, jerky course, causing utter chaos.

Each individual Jute was going berserk. They slashed with knives, cleaved with claw-like hands, shredded with sharp teeth. But they moved as a whole. The mass crashed forward, a froth of frenzied fighters that blitzed a path to the tents for the Peqkians.

Throwing off sleep, cammer soldiers scrambled to their feet, unsheathed swords or jumped out of the way. All their attention focused on the progressing churn of pink bodies.

V signalled to her warriors and they charged. The snow hindered their momentum but the noisy Jutes masked the sound of their approach. They reached the edges of the camp and slew distracted cammers who fell in droves. Soldiers turned to face them and V and her warriors fought wave after wave of hump-backed Dromedars. She pushed forward to the tents, flattening anything that stood in her way, engaging without pause and storming through hastily-formed defensive lines as if they were mere blades of grass under her boots – she could not allow those under cover to escape.

This is your end Crown Prince!

Soldiers formed a muddled defence outside the tents, eyes on the Jutes who were rapidly advancing. Cammer swords came up to attack but the Jutes didn’t engage. The whirlwind surrounded the tents and formed a circular wall of moving pink-skinned, blue-haired bodies.

The Jutes who faced the tents snarled and acked, trapping the soldiers and tent inhabitants and isolating them from the rest of the camp. Those who faced outward engaged any cammer that came near. The soldiers pressed in, attempting to find a way through the berserker Jutes to save those behind.

V and her warriors blazed their way through incompetent soldiers, no match for her seasoned warriors. Desert blood drenched the mountain rocks, doused fires, splashed up her arms and spurted across her face. The tang of iron clogged her nostrils and the wet gore slid past her lips to cover her tongue and teeth in a hot, sticky film. But there was only one whose blood she longed to spill and she was almost upon him.

As her company neared the tents, the Jutes’ movements slowed. V directed her warriors to form a protective wall around the Jutes, whose chests heaved as they looked one another over checking for injuries and cuts. All were exalted, laughing, grinning and yammering to each other in their singsong language. They parted like water to allow V and twenty of her warriors through and then fluidly closed the gap.

Brin passed V as he and his Jutes continued to circle, sweeping his hand to the tents as if in offering.

“All yours, my dear,” the Jute captain said.

She thumped her fist to her chest in thanks and beckoned to her warriors.

Soldiers protected those still in the tents, swords drawn and legs quaking. A few tent occupants had joined the fight, but the one she sought was injured. He won’t have left the tent.

V whistled orders to her women and they struck the Dromedars down. When every cammer was on the ground, groaning in pain or crying out in their last moments before death, V sliced a deep gash in the side of the first tent and the warrior Daya ripped the cloth apart.

Empty.

The second contained an older cammer soldier, whimpering. The third, fourth and fifth were all empty. The sixth contained three soldiers in uniforms made of expensive cloth clutching each other.

The seventh…

Daya stared at V, and she knew.

The Crown Prince, the armless male-child Ammad, was not there. The worm had made it back to Drome.

Internally, V raged. Her magic screamed along with her, pummelled at her bones, sloshed about in her gut. She wanted to punch great holes into nearby boulders, thrash and kick. But she controlled her emotions. The expression on her face and stiffness of her stance betrayed nothing.

“Zhaq,” the novice warrior, Monya, yelled, unable to master her emotions like the older warriors. In a frenzy, she slashed the tent to shreds with her sword.

The youngblood had expressed all of their frustrations, but once done, she studied her feet.

V took a long, slow breath.

The Jutes parted as she strode from the flattened tents, tailed by her warriors. Exhausted, half-frozen cammer faces gawped at her, but cowered as she passed. Her tall stature, glowing black skin, red hair and palms the colour of poppies marked her as different from her fellow warriors and sparked fear in the Dromedars.

The soldiers had no fight left in them. They lowered their swords, rooted to the spot. Most, she noticed, had metal cuffs around their wrists. Slaves. They followed orders. And now that the important cammers in the tents – their masters – were dead, these males posed no threat.

There is no glory in a needless slaughter. Most of the cammers wouldn’t survive much longer without food and water. And she doubted the desert would be forthcoming.

In the east, the sun was starting to rise.

Her magic granted her the ability to speak in any tongue. In Dromedari, she said, “Drop your weapons.”

The soldiers obeyed without hesitation and the thump and clang of falling steel echoed across the plain. She pointed with her sword to the path that led down the mountain. “Any soldier who is still here when the sun comes up will be executed. Run.”

The soldiers nearest to her shambled towards the path, grabbing up packs and raggedy blankets as they went. Soon those further back understood what was happening and scurried behind them.

To the Jutes, V said, “Rest. You earned it.”

To her warriors, she said, “We follow them to the border. Pick off any who lag behind. Let’s get these cammer cockfaces out of our country once and for all.”

 

A few days later, the last of the Drome soldiers slid, stumbled and fell down the loose rock of the earthquake landslide that had first opened an entrance for them at the Peqkian border.

Clouds of dust flew up behind them. They ran as fast as their cammer legs would take them across the wasteland the earthquake had torn apart and towards the desert.

Beyond the fleeing males were vast dunes, almost mountains in themselves, and undulating red sand for as far as the eye could see.

Somewhere out there was the one she sought. The Crown Prince of Drome. Ammad. He’d murdered Melokai Ramya. His army had invaded Peqkya to claim the country as his own. And he’d been responsible for her best friend’s death. Emmya. She missed Emmya. He’d caused the deaths of so many Peqkians.

Was he alive? Until she saw him dead, she would believe it.

I will have my revenge.

After a while, Lizya touched her forearm and raised an eyebrow in question.

V turned to see her warriors poised and waiting for her order. They would follow her into Drome, into the vast desert without question. It still felt strange that she was their leader. Was responsible for her actions and the actions of many others.

She wanted to charge into the dunes, her quarry was that way. She’d hunt him down and finish him as she should’ve done when she’d had the chance.

But… There was something that needed V’s attention now more than the armless worm.

“We return to Riaow,” the red-haired warrior said. “Peqkya needs us.”

Pre-order Violya by Rosalyn Kelly

The post EXCERPT: Violya by Rosalyn Kelly appeared first on Grimdark Magazine.

The magnificent grimdark fantasy art of Dejan Delic

It’s no secret that the Grimdark Magazine team are huge fans of amazing fan art, and Serbian artist Dejan Delic is absolutely killing it. He’s hitting all the right points for dark and grimdark fantasy fans, his illustrations showcasing the amazing worlds of Anna Smith-Spark, Anna Stephens, Gareth Ryder-Hanrahan, Ed McDonald, Joe Abercrombie, and Steven Erikson.

Enough from me, check out Dejan’s work with commentary from this brilliant artist on each piece, below.

The Court of Broken Knives

The Court of Broken Knives is inspired by Smath-Spark’s main character, Marith. In this scene we see Marith dealing with the dragon, releasing some of his potential when it comes to murder abilities. Such an amazing character, considering his acts and behaviour. Not to mention Anna’s outworldly writing style. It’s inspiration itself.

Godblind

Godblind by Anna Stephens is inspired mostly of the dark tone of her first book. I’ve wanted to express the entire story in one picture, in composition made of almost all main characters. And I think it’s dark as her book.

The Gutter Prayer

The Gutter Prayer is inspired by main characters from Gareth Hanrahan’s first book in his The Black Iron Legacy. This is such amazing and crazy series, and it’s hard to resist not to illustrate it. Can’t wait for the next sequel in the series.

Ravencry

Ravencry is inspired by main character in the series, Ryhalt Galharrow, and his dealing with Ezabeth’s absence in the second book. I wanted to present his duality between The Misery and Valengrad, and something that will change him utterly. No spoilers, of course!

Shattered Sea and Red Country

Now, Shattered Sea and Red Country are inspired by two of Joe Abercrombie’s books. In both I wanted to illustrate the very essence of it — main heroes combined all together, despite their differences and goals. And Lord Grimdark has perfect writing ability to throw the rawest and ugliest human behaviour in readers face. Gotta love it.

Malazan Book of the Fallen

The last two illustrations Beak and Brukhalian are from my favourite series of all time — Malazan book of the Fallen. They are inspired by the human sacrifice, in attempting to save their friends no matter the cost. Erikson has the ability to touch your very soul with his writing, and his books have been one of my main inspirations for years now.

By-the-by, the last one work is Brukhalian, from Memories of Ice, by Steven Erikson.
About Dejan Delic

Dejan Delic lives in Serbia. He has a college degree in industrial design, and illustration has been the primary form of his artistic orientation for many years now. Dejan has been drawing for quite a long time, since he was little. After graduating from the design college, Dejan has dedicated himself to graphic design, comics and illustration, with illustration having come to the fore in the last seven to eight years. Since Dejan is a a great fan of epic fantasy, the most common themes in my art are concerned with this genre.

Follow Dejan on:

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/dejan-delic
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Dejan__Delic
Facebook Art Page: https://www.facebook.com/DejanDelicArtPage/?ref=aymt_homepage_panel&eid=ARBLu5P13Jb5000mf5pxsfUhSsY-hhQ-O0hLeCnyUtinINHmGrfjPjmnGHQV6wBOfBZSSQfFWyOZ-8Aa

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REVIEW: Sin Eater by Mike Shel

Sin Eater, book two of Mike Shel’s Iconoclasts series, begins with an empire in decay. When a beloved monarch falls ill and priestly magic and the best physicians fail to cure her, the clergy of an obscure god of thieves and tricksters save her life. Her subjects’ joy over her renewed health is short lived, however. As the queen becomes more and more prone to bouts of violent madness, her court discovers the dark price of her recovery, and all who attempt to depose her meet violent and seemingly coincidental ends. As the queen enters the 141st year of her life, now reigning as little more than a malevolent, cannibalistic corpse, this novel follows a party of troubled adventurers striving to end her eternal tyranny and deal with their own demons in the process. (Some unavoidable spoilers for book one follow.)

Sin Eater picks up shortly after Aching God leaves off and follows up on a pair of book one’s most tantalizing loose threads: the cursed and dangerously insane queen Geneviva and the god-slaying sword, Szaa’da’shaela. While Sir Auric Manteo (a retired swordsman coping with the loss of his wife and son and the horrific slaughter of his adventuring companions on a quest gone wrong) returns as a main character, this book shifts from his single POV in Aching God to the split perspective of him and his daughter Agnes (an up-and-coming adventurer in her own right). To a lesser extent, readers also experience occasional forays into the perspective of a mysterious old man struggling to hold the empire together while the other protagonists undertake their journey.

While I wasn’t expecting such a major change from the Auric-focused POV of book one, I thought seeing things from both of the Manteos’ perspectives added a lot to the narrative. Auric and Agnes’s strained relationship is a centerpiece of the novel, and experiencing it from both sides did a lot to develop the pair. I also really enjoyed Shel’s choice to throw the old man into the mix. In addition to being an enticingly mysterious character in his own right, his chapters provide a window into just how far and how fast things are devolving in the royal court and add another layer of tension to the narrative as the rest of the characters race to find a solution.

Joining Agnes and Auric is a cast of equally excellent supporting characters that make up their adventuring party. These include Chalca, a witty actor-turned-rogue, Kennah, a gruff swordsman recovering from the recent death of his dearest companion, and Queelb, a deeply traumatized sorcerer with a particularly disturbing brand of magic. The priestess Sira Edjani returns as well, and serves as the group’s healer. While it’s easy to recognize which tabletop trope each falls into, Shel does a great job of making them more than stats on a sheet. As the title suggests, Sin Eater is almost a confessional booth for its characters, gradually fleshing them out through their secrets, shames, and past traumas (some implied and some explicit). If I had one minor complaint about Shel’s characters, it would simply be that I wanted more on-the-page time getting to know a few of them who didn’t have as big a share in the limelight.

Sin Eater is a bit of a slow burn, with the main “quest” of the novel not beginning until the book is halfway over. But like the Aching God before it, I felt like the journey was just as gripping and important as the destination. The adventure’s prologue never reads like prologue, and the character and worldbuilding setup in early chapters has a fantastic payoff in the end. Between this and a few deft plot twists cunning enough to satisfy the most malevolent of trickster gods, I found this novel enthralling from start to finish.

Overall, my favorite aspect of this book and the Iconoclasts series as a whole is the way Shel takes classic tabletop adventuring tropes and thinks through their real-life consequences and implications. Violence and trauma aren’t just a bad roll on the d20 and a failed saving throw–they inflict permanent physical and mental consequences on the characters. While any work of fiction reflects the talents and interests of its creator to some degree, Shel’s time in the tabletop games industry and background in psychotherapy really shine in the pages of this book. Between that and a demonstrable mastery of tension of and dread, I’ve come to see Shel as one of indie fantasy’s finest voices.

While this book contains fewer horror elements than its predecessor, I’m confident fellow grimdark fans will enjoy its startlingly bleak worldbuilding, deep and realistically flawed characters, and its exploration and subversion of the classic fantasy adventurer archetype. Aching God set my expectations high, and Sin Eater definitely met them. In all, I’d give this book a strong 4.5 out of 5 stars. I can only hope book three comes out before my 141st birthday.

Buy Sin Eater by Mike Shel

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REVIEW: The Grey Bastards by Jonathan French

If Sons of Anarchy and Lord of the Rings had a bastard child who fought and scrapped in the muck to survive, it’d be The Grey Bastards. This brilliant mash-up of dark fantasy and motorcycle gangs is a fast-paced page-turner that’ll keep you hooked from start to finish.

Jackal is a member of the Grey Bastards, a brotherhood gang of half-orcs riding their massive (and literal) hogs around the Lots (badlands) to defend the border of civilisation from the full-blooded orcs out to destroy it. Under their leader, the Claymaster, the Grey Bastards fight, fornicate, and give each other a constant ribbing. However, Jackal sees the Claymaster’s decisions becoming more and more damaging to his hoof (gang) and the arrival of a mysterious stranger makes him think that perhaps it’s time for a change in the Grey Bastards’ leadership.

The Grey Bastards is a fun story full of twists and turns and betrayals. The characters very quickly grow on you, their personalities really well fleshed out by the author through consistent banter to make the victories sweeter and the defeats all that much harder to bear. The setting is frontier-style, and the world includes a broad range of beings, from humans and half-orcs, to elves and a weird creature kind of like a new aged The Blob.

All the messy details are in this book. It’s gritty and grimy as all hell, and reminded me a bit of Joe Abercrombie’s style. However, this isn’t a Grimdark book, by any stretch of the imagination—it’s more dark fantasy—but fans of grimdark will get a huge kick out of this book. I highly recommend you grab a copy and get stuck in.

“Live in the saddle! Die on the Hog!”

Buy The Grey Bastards by Jonathan French

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REVIEW: Smoke and Stone by Michael R. Fletcher

In Michael R. Fletcher’s Smoke and Stone, the entirety of mankind dwells within the city of Bastion. Surrounded by crimson sands and sculpted from a single, seamless piece of rock by the hands of the gods themselves, the city’s society is fractured by a rigid theocratic caste system. While divinely empowered guards and a series of inner walls help to maintain a brittle peace, trouble is brewing. As hungry gods prepare for war and the city’s poorest (the Growers) chafe under the yoke of lifelong slavery, Bastion’s ancient streets threaten to run red with blood.

Readers experience the brutally divided reality of life in Bastion from two characters’ perspectives. The first is Akachi, a sorcerer-priest of Cloud Serpent, god of the hunt, and son of his deity’s high priest. Raised in the privileged luxury of Bastion’s highest caste, Akachi is given his first parish and a small troop of outcast guards in an impoverished Grower district full of criminals, dissidents, and heretics. The second POV character, Nuru, is an illegal street sorcerer in a struggling gang. When a mysterious scarred woman and a dark spirit from beyond Bastion’s walls offer her a chance to strike back against her oppressors, she finds herself drawn into the larger societal conflict and the brewing divine war.

Throughout the novel, Fletcher skillfully juggles these POVs and switches between them at particularly tense beats in a way that kept me turning pages like a madman. Both characters are believable and sympathetic to begin with—Akachi in his well-meaning prejudice and all-consuming drive to please his father and Nuru in her desperate need to keep her friends safe and escape her terrible circumstances. Watching them change and develop in the face of unthinkable choices and desperate situations is intensely gripping to read. The author does a great job with both character arcs, and as in all the best grimdark, some changes aren’t for the better.

While I could prattle on for ages about how much I enjoyed the narcotic-based magic system these characters use, I think Fletcher does a better job of gradually and organically revealing its practices and powers through the narrative itself. The other aspects of this novel’s worldbuilding were equally excellent. The author did a great job of using little details like Grower clothing, caste-based food, and local slurs to flesh out the city’s culture and make a setting as fantastical as Bastion feel believable and grounded in reality. Bastion’s gods aren’t your mother’s pantheon—from the eldritch chaos of Smoking Mirror (god of night and chaos), to the flayed terror of Father Death (lord of the unliving and current king of the gods)—Fletcher’s take on divinity, reality, and the power of belief are as striking and keen as ever.

Overall, one of the things I enjoyed most about Smoke and Stone is how it brings truly original concepts and elements to the table. With every novel he writes, Fletcher has a way of contributing something brilliantly twisted and utterly unique to the Fantasy (or scifi) genre, and I found Smoke and Stone to be his best work yet. All in all, this book is as grim and dark as they come, and I wouldn’t hesitate to dub it a 5-star must-read for any GDM subscriber or fan of the genre.

Buy Smoke and Stone by Michael R. Fletcher

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REVIEW: The Killing Light by Myke Cole

The Killing Light is the last book of an immense trilogy that is both satisfying and haunting. I will be thinking about this book long after having finished it.

“The sword, the spear, these are the instruments of the soldier. The Emperor’s hands succor and provision, heal and mend. They bear the threshing flail, the only weapon that may make bread as readily as it may take life.”

—WRIT. IMP. XXI. 17.

Myke Cole has emotionally raked me over the coals. He pulled no punches in this conclusion and has laid Heloise bare emotionally, physically, and mentally on the altar of grimdark fantasy. Heloise’s story, The Killing light, is the final book of The Sacred Throne Trilogy (The Armored Saint; Queen of Crows). It is also the last book of a series that Cole has written to prove to himself and the world that he can, indeed, write a profoundly dark and morally gray series outside of his normal prevue of military-based fiction.

He nailed it.

The Killing Light is an emotionally intense and raw story. So much so that I had to put the novel down at certain points to take a breather. Heloise and her allies face the greatest challenge of their lives.

Is she the palatine of legend? What does it mean to be a hero and save everyone that can be saved? Heloise was never meant to be the hero of all. She is a young girl, meant to live out her days in a village. But one cannot choose their fate, nor who they fall in love with. All we can ever do is exist and make choices. Do our best. That is all Heloise has ever aspired to do.

Writing-wise, this story is the outcome of a few concurrently running plots. Firstly, the overarching theme of different groups is how to exist in a world of religious fervor. I especially enjoyed how Cole handled this.

There is absolute consistency in the four mentalities that Cole writes for. We have the Traveling People, Free Peoples, Villagers, and Gray Clokes. All of the cultures are equally delved into and represent different parts of the religious spectrum. Cole writes them as if they are rivers that twist and turn tumultuously over each other. Each of the main characters from different cultures reacts to situations based on their own set of experiences. It is masterfully done.

Cole creates a world full of blood and ambiguous situations. He takes a look at these complex characters and delves even deeper into their psyches. How much can a character take before that character breaks? In some cases, quite a lot, in other cases, not much. We see many of the main characters, such as Heloise, Samson, Xilkya, Onas, and Tone, flayed emotionally. I am not going to give to many details, I don’t want to spoil it. But aside from Heloise, Onas and Tones journeys are compelling and heartbreaking.

“War, she was finding, was nothing so much as a series of choices between bad and worse.”

One of the exhausting and fantastic things about The Killing Light is the pacing. I guess I should say just speed because there is only one pace in this story. Fast and unrelenting. Every moment that is written into this novella is utilized. There are no throwaways or dalliance. Much like the first two books in the series, The Killing Light is skinned to the bone. It is minimalistic writing, as there are no words wasted. Cole tells you precisely what is happening and how. This doesn’t mean that there is no character development, as I said above, the characters’ journeys are compelling. It is a testament to Cole’s skill in writing that he can say so much with so little.

I don’t believe that this novel should be read on its own. You can, of course, but I think that this book should be read after the first two. The reader will get much more from the choices and decisions of the characters. Cole doesn’t spend a lot of time going over the minutiae of the first two stories.

In the end, I believe that Heloise is the character we need right now in fantasy. We need morally gray characters, written with thought and nuance. Ones where sexuality, emotions, backstory, and decisions are written well and with forethought. This series and especially The Killing Light are that in spades. “Just one more impossible thing” sums up the drive and overarching theme of this series. Heloise sends herself into the darkness to conquer just one more impossible thing over and over.

I am so glad that Cole has taken us readers for the ride.

Check out The Killing Light by Myke Cole on November 12th.

ARC provided by the publisher Tor.com—in exchange for an honest review. Read an excerpt here.

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REVIEW: The House of Night and Chain by David Annandale

Horrific influences and elements permeate every facet of the Warhammer Universe–from the old World of Warhammer Fantasy, to the Realms of Age of Sigmar, and on to the grimdark future of Warhammer 40,000. From the terrifying machinations of Chaos gods, to the ravenous chitterings of Warp creatures ready to feast on febrile minds, terror is everywhere. So, it was only natural that The Black Library launch its own Horror line (an umbrella under which stories which transpire in the multitudinous Warhammer settings can be told). One of the first full-length novels released under this imprint is The House of Night and Chain, by David Annandale; which I’ll be reviewing today.

The House of Night and Chain takes the standard ‘haunted, sentient house’ template, and customizes it for the 40K universe. It follows an Astra Militarum colonel named Maeson Strock, who is ‘put out to pasture’ following a horrifyingly pyrrhic victory against the endless swarms of the Tyranids on a planet called Clostrum. Being a descendent of the ruling family on his home planet of Solus, Strock is charged with assuming the Lord-Governorship. Through this position, Strock is to quell the rampant corruption festering on Solus, perpetuated by the other ruling families.

The heart of the Strock fortune is a mineral-rich hill; whose deposits granted the family their ascendency. At the center of this property is the imposing estate of Malveil. Within Malveil’s foreboding walls, Maeson’s predecessor lost his mind. And, it was from Malveil’s heights that Maeson’s wife, Eliana, leapt to her death.

See, as in all good haunted house stories, Malveil has a malevolent sentience all its own. It calls the Strock’s home, to fulfill their obligations as stewards of Solus; and then, it slowly asserts its dominance over them.

Well, let’s take a quick look at the blurb, and then examine the elements of the book itself:

In a bleak corner of the city of Valgaast, the House of Malveil awaits. A place of darkness, its halls throb with a sinister history. Its rooms are filled with malice. Its walls echo with pain. Now it stirs eagerly with the approach of an old heir – Colonel Maeson Strock of the Astra Militarum has returned home to his ancestral mansion. He is a man broken, both by the horrors of war and by personal loss, and he has come home to take up the mantle of Planetary Governor. He hopes he can purge his home world of political corruption, and reforge connections with his estranged children. He hopes he can rebuild his life.

Malveil will feast on these dreams. Strock believes he has seen the worst of the galaxy’s horrors. Malveil will show him how wrong he is.

Characters

The House of Night and Chain is told in the first-person POV of our protagonist, Maeson Strock. Annandale’s core focus with the books is on Maeson, and his slow, deliberate decline into madness. Considering this, he’s done a commendable job fleshing out this character. Maeson is haunted by his past ‘failures’ (the pyrrhic win at Clostrum, the loss of his wife, his estrangement from his children), and yet he approaches his new duties on Solus with the consummate professionalism of a lifelong military man.

Annandale does a masterful job charting Strock’s decline. We go from watching his successful attempts to combat and stamp out the embedded corruption, dodging assassination attempts, and trying to reconcile with his children, to bearing witness to his grasp on sanity become more and more tenuous as Malveil asserts its devious nature. Whispers, and laughter of children long gone are heard around every corner. Glimpses of things which should not appear. Endless passages, and a constant sense of foreboding.

A major catalyst in Strock’s mental decline is his wife, Eliana; who is fleshed out primarily in epistolary format via a discovered journal. Through its entries, which depict a woman becoming increasingly unhinged by Malveil’s machinations, we can chart a distinct parallel with Strock’s experience. Malveil calls, claims, then owns.

Eliana’s story is another tragedy; a formidable woman, she did what she felt was right, serving as her husband’s political proxy in his absence, paying the ultimate price.

Secondary characters include Strock’s now adult children, two close friends/confidants, and a primary rival among the ruling families. All of these characters are compelling; just I wish we could have seen more of them. This is understandably difficult; as the story is told from Strock’s point of view, and said viewpoint becomes increasingly myopic as Malveil’s tendrils tighten.

Finally, the primary antagonist of the story is Malveil itself. In Malveil, Annandale has created a delightfully diabolical entity. While the causal factors of Malveil’s evil are easy to predict, the execution is spot-on, keeping the reader invested.

Action

When one thinks of haunted house yarns, the term ‘action-packed’ rarely comes to mind. With that in mind; I must say that Annandale does an exemplary job of integrating blistering 40K elements with traditional haunted house proceedings. The Clostrum flashbacks are insanely frantic, urgent, and terrifying. Annandale, a longtime kaiju fan, is excellent at depicting the truly monstrous aspects of the Tyranids.

There are also a few setpieces; attempts on Strock’s life, which are presented quite well. Particularly of note is one involving a bridge collapse; the magnitude of which is conveyed so convincingly that I felt it was transpiring before my eyes.

Also, when House of Night and Chain reaches its climax, there are a few brutal action scenes as well; bloody, brutal, and horrifyingly satisfying.

Overall Writing Style

In the past, Annandale has been a bit hit or miss for me. I’ve always said; there’s three topics he excels at: Faith (or crises thereof), Horror, and Kaiju/Monsters (for an excellent story which combines all three masterfully, I’ll always recommend his story The Conversion, from the Kaiju Rising anthology).

That being said, because of his passion for horror, Annandale is one of the few Black Library authors that I was truly looking forward to a Warhammer Horror entry from. And, I’m happy to say, he does not disappoint at all. The mechanics for a solid haunted house yarn are here. Annandale knows how to plant, and cultivate fear, unease, and terror. There is no sense of safety. Hell, there is no sense of sanity. We, the audience, are kept in the dark just as much as Maeson Strock is, and this guarantees a bizarre, discomfiting ride in the latter portions of the book.

Annandale knows when to keep the terror subtle, and when to showcase the blood-soaked, the gruesome. This is an extremely tough balance to strike, so kudos to Annandale on doing it proficiently.

There are, however, a few quibbles that I have with The House of Night and Chain. The first has to do with some of the character descriptions. Many of the characters are initially described in ways to portray them as either horrifying or bizarre; i.e. a personal driver/guard whose lower body is a continuous track system, the full back brace which restricts his daughter to a severe rigidity, his son’s slovenly figure, molded by a life of decadence. Of particular note is Montfor, Strock’s archenemy on the Council, who has a face which is literally rotting away.

My point is that these physical aspects should have been played upon in every encounter Strock has with these characters. So much in horror is predicated upon what generates unease; especially in everyday situations. Physical appearances (especially the hideously warped), reinforce this motif. They were introduced for a reason; ergo, they should have been utilized more.

Another (very minor) issue is with a sense of scale. To be fair, this affects a lot of sci-fi works, so it’s not limited to this book. Everything in this book has a very ‘local’ feel, although the events are supposed to have global ramifications. And yet, all of the critical decisions of a mineral-rich world transpire within a close, ramshackle area. It doesn’t feel right. In the end, it feels as though Strock is less a planetary governor, and more the governor of Valgaast (the region where the story takes place) alone.

Again, a minor complaint, but still.

Final Thoughts

Simply put, Annandale hit it out of the park with The House of Night and Chain. This is a story which is, in turns, exhilarating, terrifying, and heart-wrenching. Annandale marries campfire horror with grimdark military sci-fi to yield a blood-curdling tale of consummate terror.

Highly recommended.

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REVIEW: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

Tamsyn Muir’s debut novel, Gideon the Ninth is a dark, irreverent, bonkers and beautiful story featuring competing necromancers, duelling cavaliers, and a protagonist with a genuinely unique point of view. When the Emperor invites the heirs to the eight great necromantic houses to compete for a place by his side as one of his immortal Lyctors, Gideon Nav–put-upon servant of the Ninth–begrudgingly accompanies her childhood adversary Harrow to the mysterious Canaan House. There, surrounded by strange rivals from the other houses, Gideon and Harrow must find a way to work together despite their unhappy history if they’re to survive the dangers of the coming trials.

It’s a sort of necromantic haunted house whodunnit, a wildly ambitious science fantasy story set in a world where domesticated skeletons walk dusty halls and duels are fought at swordpoint, while ancient technology lies dormant and wars are fought with a mixture of magic and force of arms. Very little of the world is explained or justified up front, rather being gradually revealed as the narrative develops and characters interact with it. At times Muir’s prose grows a little dense, and she takes her time building up the structures and mechanics of this strange society, but with a foundation of necromancy as the norm it’s sufficiently engaging right from the off to be clearly full of promise. Perseverance is then rewarded with an intriguing sense of depth and history to the setting which hints at more to come even as it draws you in.

Narratively it also starts quite slowly, in the morbid gloom of the Ninth House, as Gideon and Harrow’s relationship is introduced and their mutual hatred established. Gideon’s voice comes through straight away–irreverent and entertainingly blunt, though with a childlike intensity and naivety–and provides something to latch onto early on, but even once events move to Canaan House the pace remains a little sluggish, exacerbated by the introduction of the necromancers and cavaliers from all seven other houses. It’s a lot of names and roles to remember, but while it takes a little while to figure things out, before long the personalities of the necromancer/cavalier pairings is clearly, cleverly visible as the plot develops into a tense, nervy whodunnit. Even as the characters themselves struggle to understand exactly what they’re supposed to be doing, possibilities arise, tentative alliances are made and Gideon’s mind is repeatedly blown by the realities of life outside the Ninth House.

It’s a really clever story all told, packed full of twists and tremendously entertaining action, and once the pace starts ramping up it all escalates into a ferociously exciting conclusion that leaves you breathless, exhilarated and–frankly–traumatised. Central to all of that is Gideon and Harrow’s relationship, which slowly develops from deeply adversarial to something strangely, appropriately different – but always founded on shared connection, despite everything. Gideon’s voice is wonderful, and feels very different to the usual SFF tone, while her personality–me-against-the-world, cocky and confident but strangely sheltered–gives a wonderful perspective to what’s taking place around her. In a world of necromancers, animated skeletons and wide-ranging bone magic, a cynical lesbian with a sword, a strong arm and a sharp wit just makes so much sense. This might not be for everyone, and certainly rewards a little patience, but for those willing to relax into it, there’s a lot to enjoy.

Thanks very much to Tamsyn Muir and Tor.com for sending me a copy of Gideon the Ninth in exchange for this honest review!

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REVIEW: Sword of Destiny by Andrzej Sapkowski

Sword of Destiny is a slavic fantasy book that contains the brilliance captured by the video game series, as well as the repertoire of characters that Andrzej Sapkowski has at his disposal. This second collection of short stories in the world of the Witcher is a book that those who enjoyed the first collection, will love, as it brings more of the same.

’What a hideous smile I have, Geralt thought, reaching for his sword. What a hideous face I have, and how hideously I squint. So, is that what I look like? Damn’

Geralt is such a great character, we have now had two whole books to get to know him as a Witcher, and understand his motives and background. Sword of Destiny does a good job of building upon the foundations of his character, lain by The Last Wish. Although still a short story collection, the development of Geralt is satisfying and evident much more in this volume. These chapters are linked, through characters that appear in multiple short stories, and Geralt’s engagement with them creates a fun experience.

Geralt’s cool-rating went up and up with each conversation, his witty and intelligent self shining in this collection. However, what frustrated me was his bumbling and pretty strange character when in the company of Yennefer, though maybe I’m still too used to the Geralt from the Witcher 3.

‘Don’t teach me how to trade you prat’

The stories in Sword of Destiny contained some fantastic examples of fantasy done at it’s highest, with dragons, dwarves, shape-shifters and doppelgängers, ferocious monsters, and high-magic. The variety ensures that you will love at least one of the stories and enjoy most of them. I loved how different each story was, with their own morals and messages they portrayed. This is one of Sapkowski’s many strengths, where he carves a small book into a unique experience that challenges your ideas. The realisation that this is a fantasy book is pushed to the back of your mind, where it can also be perceived as a social commentary regarding issues that are still relevant today.

Also there’s swords. Lots of different swords. It’s pretty awesome, and the action is well-done, however rare. The dialogue was a big step-up in this second chapter, and the exchanges between characters was enjoyable and fun. Dandelion comes into his own in this, showing the many layers of his character (more layers than Shrek!). I also enjoyed the introduction of Ciri, a character so central to the Witcher 3. Although it was equally amusing and shocking to listen to the narrater’s thick Scottish portrayal of her.

‘Has anyone ever told you that you are gorgeous?’

4/5 – A similar but satisfying continuation of the Witcher series. A step-up from The Last Wish that delivers emotionally and physically punching stories. The variety keeps you on your toes, and the development is good. Geralt is still a very cool guy, and I look forward to beginning the full novels of these soon.

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