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A Clash of Wind and Lightning
Throughout its history, mountains in this region were more for the hardy and less for the fashionable. Spirits claimed the high places, and durable men and women claimed the places in between. Settlers of the upper valleys eked out a living and raised their families in splendid and harsh isolation, vaguely but persistently aware of the forces above. Few there were who ventured up the steeps though it was known that the highland meadows were good for grazing. Every so often, however, the high fever seized upon a restless, earthbound soul, and up past the crags he would go to be nearer the clouds and to have a closer look at the peaks and glaciers towering over vacant pastures. Of…
The Talekeeper
The weight of old words, pages unread. I carried it with me in those days. Close to my breast I clutched it under my cloak as if holding myself together. I was filthy-faced and rough-bearded, seldom speaking to another living soul. Carriages steered in wide arcs around me on the road; lanterns dimmed in windowsills when I passed. If I came across a group of children they would scatter upon seeing me. When I left a town, tales sometimes spread of a witch’s thrall shambling by night or a bogeyman carrying a sack of bone and gristle on his back. I knew them all. I carried them too. I came to Arcuna in a time of pestilence. Men pushed deadcarts…
Latest Serials
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SOIL — Part Four
FOUR The bairns speak trilling voices in the night, harsh echoes dancing, afright of the hoary and weighty squalor of…
SOIL — Part Three
THREE Oft I’ve seen you in the night, or a wan image of you. A pale imitation compared to your…
Blog
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A Reader’s Guide to Modern Sword and Sorcery Magazines
Back in the days of yore, some 100 years ago at this point, pulp fiction magazines were everywhere. Publications like…
Forging New Nexuses: Gassing Up Genre Writers of the 1920s and 2020s
Citation abbreviation notes: AMtF: A Means to Freedom: The Letters of H. P. Lovecraft and Robert E. Howard (Volume 1)…
How ‘A Knight’s Tale’ Helped Me See My Own Journey
Some stories stay with you not because they are historically accurate or perfectly crafted, but because they remind you of…
Short Fiction
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The First War
Barrin burst from the raging rapids that had battered him pitilessly from one squall to the next, gasping for precious…
I Was Once Yours
Blood: a pearl droplet on the meat of his thumb. Glass: a sliver, imperceptible aside from subtle pressure between two…
Once is Never Enough
Aisling held what remained of Blightheart by his horn, throwing the goblin magelord's head at the boots of her liege…
The King of Kings
The shroud was pale, it hurt the eyes. Kohl over the eyelids shielded just enough, but a single overt glance…