For the first time since being trussed up, I looked around to take a real stock of our enemies. There were about twenty of the disgusting creatures around, and they all looked about the same, with slight variations of size. Then without so much as another word or shrill squeal, the spiders started off through the forest. Four spiders grabbed my cocoon in their vertical mouths and began to drag me across the forest floor. Malagor and Norar Remontar were subjects of similar treatment. It was neither a comfortable nor a dignified way to travel. We were dragged about a mile into a very dark and silent portion of the forest.
The Pell had taken us to their home. This settlement, if one can so dignify the place with that name, was nothing more than an immense spider web covering several hundred square yards, and rising high into the upper branches of a number of trees. We were taken to the center of the spider web, then long strands of silk were tied to our feet, and we were hauled up to hang upside down some thirty feet above the ground. I then noticed that the Pell numbered in the hundreds, ranging in size from about as big as a tarantula, to one individual, possibly the village elder, who was about the size of a large pony. All of these beasts climbed around the webbing, but their main residence seemed to be a large hole in the ground below us and a little to my left.
I have always hated spiders, and the experience of hanging by my ankles in a giant web, and being examined by arachnids close to my own size did nothing to strengthen my opinion of them. I tried to think of some way to free my hands, but they were wrapped tightly at my sides. I couldn’t imagine things getting any worse than they were at that moment, but they really always can. Just then it started to rain.
I like rain. I suppose that it is because I grew up in the southwestern United States, where rainfall is relatively rare. However rain, when in conjunction with gravity, has an unfortunate effect upon an individual who is hanging upside down. It runs up his nose.
“You have killed me,” said Malagor, and he stretched out his head and began a long low howl.
This did nothing to improve my own state of mind. I looked around, blinded by the water running over my face, but desperate to find some means of escape. There seemed little hope.
“Can’t you call on the power of your sword?” I asked Norar Remontar.
“What?”
“Can’t you call upon the soul in your sword to rescue you?”
“I do not call upon the soul. It comes of its own accord. And it does not do so to cut bonds. It comes only for battle.”
“That seems inconvenient,” I replied. “I see no way of escape.”
“There is no way of escape.” Came a high-pitched voice. “You are doomed to die, as am I.”
I twisted my body around to look upon a Pell sitting nearby. It was about the size of a big dog, but otherwise seemed identical to all the other spider creatures.
“You are doomed to die?” Malagor asked. “Why?”
“I have angered the web-leader. I feasted upon food that was not mine.”
“Could you get us out of this web and these cocoons?” I inquired.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Why not? You are going to die anyway.”
“My death will not be as horrible as it would be should I release you.”
“We are going to Amathar. If you were to come with us, you would escape death, and be welcome there.” I was attempting to weave a web of my own as I talked. “He’d be welcome. Wouldn’t he, Norar Remontar?”
“No,” he said.
“Work with me here!” I pleaded.
“The Amatharian speaks truly. I have no place else to go. Amathar would not welcome me.” Whined the arachnid.
“What if Norar Remontar promised to protect you. You know Amatharians always keep their word. He could promise to find you a new home.” The Pell’s forelegs began to twitch.
“You’ll protect him and find him a new home. Won’t you, Norar Remontar?”
“No,” he said.
“Do you want to live to see Amathar? Do you want to be able to rescue your sister?” I hissed. “Tell the damn spider you’ll protect him if he’ll let us go.”
“No,” he said.
“I cannot go far away,” whined the Pell.
“Why are you up here anyway?” I asked him. “Why would you be sentenced to death for eating something that wasn’t yours?”
“We eat any live flesh,” he explained. “but thinking, speaking creatures are reserved for the leader and the hive elder.”
“That hardly seems fair. Why, a fellow like you… what was your name?”
“Vvvv.”
“Why,” I continued. “I would much rather be eaten by a fine fellow like you than almost anyone else. What about you, Malagor?”
“Indeed,” said my companion. “It would be an honor to be eaten by Vvvv.”
“You must surely be the finest of the Pell,” I said. “In fact, now that I think about it, why aren’t you the leader?”
“I should be!” Squealed the spider, puffing himself up larger. “I have always known that I should be leader! Even the lower forms can see it!”
Right now The Steel Dragon is in the slush pile at Baen books waiting to be read. It’s been there for four months and so I don’t expect to hear anything else for another five at least. When I wrote the book, I thought of it as one long novel (about 660,000 words). Once I was done, I decided it needed to be a trilogy and I began to think of it as my Lord of the Rings. In either form, it has a long and complete epilogue which tells what happens to all the characters for the rest of their lives.
When I finished writing, I really felt bad about not being able to write more about the world and the characters that I created, so I plotted out a story which goes between volumes two and three. Now after reading O Pioneers, I feel like even that is not enough and I want to write much more. I want to take off that epilogue and write out what happens to the characters in book form. I’m still thinking about this, so I don’t know what I’ll decide.
| What Kind of Reader Are You?
Your Result: Dedicated Reader
You are always trying to find the time to get back to your book. You are convinced that the world would be a much better place if only everyone read more. |
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st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) }
There seemed to be more people milling around on the starboard side of the ship, so he headed to the port, in hopes of finding a spot to sit. When he rounded the one of the battleship’s great gun turrets, Zeah saw why most of the others were eschewing this particular location. Zurfina the Magnificent was standing near the railing. Her blond hair was its usual, carefully cultivated chaos. She was wearing a dress which completely covered her from head to heel, but which was so tight and so contoured to her body, that it was more lewd than if she had been standing there naked. Zeah would have sworn that it was made from rubber, had such a thing been possible. The girl that had accompanied the sorceress when she had boarded was with her now. She too wore a black dress, in a more traditional style, though made of the same shiny substance. And the question of what type of animal that the sorceress had brought aboard with her was now answered. The case that she had carried when she had arrived now sat beside the girl, and on top of the case perched a small, sinewy, winged reptile. It had a long, snakelike neck, and an equally long, snakelike tale, four legs and two thin wings. It was covered in scales the color of new steel. Even its wings were covered. When it suddenly flapped them, sparkling reflections caused Zeah to cover his eyes. It was a dragon, the first that the head butler had ever seen. The girl was feeding it pieces of raw, red meat with a gloved hand. Between bites the tiny dragon would make growls reminiscent of an angry housecat, and the girl would giggle.
Zeah paused for a moment uncertainly. He was about to turn around and go back the way he had come, but the sorceress looked up and saw him. Not wanting to be seen a coward by one so powerful, he squared his shoulders and stepped forward with his porridge and pumpernickel. The girl was sitting on a case covering some type of shipboard equipment, and the butler moved to sit next to her only a few feet from the dragon and the obscenely dressed magic user.
“May I join you?” he asked.
“You are more than welcome, Mr. Korlann,” said Zurfina, in her smoky, sultry voice. “We are about to begin lessons. Perhaps you can benefit from them as well.”
Zurfina raised her hand and a glowing sphere rose up from the deck. It floated up until it reached the height of her shoulders, then began expanding and becoming more opaque, until Zeah recognized it as a globe of the world, which stopped growing at eleven or twelve feet in diameter. As it slowly spun in mid-air, Zeah could make out the shapes of the landmasses and oceans of the world.
“This is Greater Brechalon,” said Zurfina, and the shape of the four islands making up the country glowed.
“It’s little,” said the girl.
“Yes it is, Pet,” said Zurfina. “It’s just one of many countries on the continent of Sumir and Sumir is just one of the twelve continents. We’re going to this one—Mallon.”
Another portion of the globe was illuminated as it slowly rotated around in mid-air. This was a large portion of a tremendous landmass made up of four continents, and was almost on the opposite side of the world from Greater Brechalon and the rest of Sumir.
“And this spot right inside of Mallon, is the land of Birmisia”
“It’s little too,” said the girl.
“True, it is only a small portion of Mallon, and yet it’s larger than all of Greater Brechalon. You see, that’s why the King and the Prime Minister want colonies on all these other continents. There is all this land, just sitting there, filled with the riches of nature, and no one to reap them—a vast world without the benefits of civilization.”
“What’s so great about civilization?” asked the girl.
“You see, Mr. Korlann?” said Zurfina. “Out of the mouths of babes come great truths.”
“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength over thine enemies, that thou might slay them and lay waste to their lands and their flocks,” quoted Zeah. “For the kingdom of the Lord shall reign over all the other kingdoms of the world.”
“Yes, well,” said Zurfina. “She has plenty of time to become disillusioned later.”
Zeah was startled by the tiny steel dragon, as it let out a short growl. The little beast was undeniably beautiful. It reminded the butler of a statue that was heavily detailed—the pointed barb and the end of its tail, the whiskers around its face, each individual scale fitting neatly together as it moved.”
“You have a question, Mr. Korlann?” asked Zurfina.
“Is this a real dragon?”
“Most assuredly.”
“Aren’t they… well, dangerous?”
“Most assuredly.”
“How large will it get?”
“Far too large to sit where it is now sitting,” said Zurfina, her smoky voice punctuating the image.
The girl fed the dragon one last piece of meat, and then took off the leather glove that had protected her hand. The dragon, evidently unhappy that his meal was over, let out a particularly long and unhappy growl.
“Does it have a name?” asked Zeah.
“Of course,” said Zurfina.
“We don’t know it yet,” said the girl. “He’s too little to talk.”
Zurfina clapped her hands and the giant globe disappeared. She snapped her fingers and the carrier, on which the little dragon sat, popped open. The dragon squawked unhappily, but climbed down into the carrier, then tried to bite the girl as she reached down to close the door.
“Brassy berk!” said the girl.
“No more lessons today, Pet,” said Zurfina. “I’m going to take a nap. Put our boy away and then practice your magic.”
The girl picked up the animal carrier and began lugging it forward. Zurfina smiled at Zeah and winked. He half expected her to raise her arms above her head and disappear, but she didn’t. She just followed the child carrying the dragon, and all three passed through an open hatch and out of eyesight. Zeah ate several bites of his porridge; just enough to have something on his stomach, then poured the rest over the side and tossed his bread in the ocean after it. Then he walked back to the stern to return his bowl.
Zeah didn’t see Zurfina the Magnificent for more than a week after that day, but she was not the only purveyor of the mystical arts aboard. Two wizards had been hired by Master Augie and had joined the expedition as part of the mercenary company commanded by Master Terrence. The first was a war wizard named Dudley Labrith, who had served with Lieutenant Dechantagne’s battalion in the Royal Colony of Birmisia. He was a tall, well-built man with dark black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, and had been born in the great city of Brech. He dressed like the rest of the military men on the expedition, in khakis and pith helmet. The other wizard was from Mirsanna. His name was Suvir Kesi. His dark complexion and unusual comb mustache alone would have made him stand out among the crew and passengers, but he accentuated his differences even more by wearing traditional clothing of his homeland—a bright blue silk shirt and loose fitting black pants tucked into his high black boots, and a yellow fez with a blue tassel on top. Several days after his encounter with the sorceress, her ward, and the dragon, Zeah found the two wizards huddled together along the railing. As he approached, they both turned to greet him.
“Good morning, Mr. Korlann,” said Kesi, his pronounced Mirsannan accent making his words sound oily and slick. “It is Mr. Korlann, is it not?”
“Yes. And I have the pleasure of addressing the Great Wizard Labrith and the Great Wizard Kesi?”
Regardless of just how great they might be, Zeah assumed that it was a good idea to play it safe. Even low level wizards could be quite dangerous for someone with no magical talent at all, like himself. The two wizards nodded in acknowledgement.
“Tell me, Mr. Korlann,” said Labrith. “Which cabin belongs to Zurfina the Magnificent?”
“It’s…why do you want to know?”
“To introduce ourselves,” said Kesi. “Give her a chance to get to know us.”
“Oh, I’ve long been an admirer,” said Labrith.
“I, as well,” said Kesi.
“It’s… you know,” said Zeah. “I’m afraid that I don’t remember which cabin she was assigned. I must have it written down in my notes, back in my cabin.”
The two wizards glanced at one another.
“Don’t worry yourself about it,” said Kesi.
“No. It wasn’t anything important,” said Labrith.
“You know,” said Kesi. “This Zurfina is quite well known among practitioners of the arts. I am quite surprised that she would sign on to this type of expedition. With power of her sort, she could be the royal wizard in any country she chose… if this is the same Zurfina of which I have heard.”
“Quite, quite,” said Labrith. “It was my understanding in fact, that the Ministry of War was looking for her in Brech, but was never able to find her. How were you able to find her, Mr. Korlann?”
“Miss Dechantagne contacted her,” said Zeah, “on the advice of a wizard from Mernham Yard.”
“Interesting,” said Labrith.
“Yes, indeed,” said Kesi.
“Well, I have much to attend to,” said Labrith, nodding. “Good day to you, Mr. Korlann. Good day to you, Wizard Kesi.”
“Yes. Good day to you, Wizard Labrith.” said Kesi. “Good day, Mr. Korlann.”
The two wizards turned and departed, each in a different direction. Zeah continued on his way. He had much to attend to as well, though he couldn’t help but wonder at the strange twists of fortune which would place an ordinary butler on a battleship in the middle of the ocean with several wizards and a dragon.
There She Is- Step 2: Cake Dance
There She Is- Step 3: Doki & Nabi
There She Is- Step 4: Paradise
There She Is- Step 5: Imagine
My nephew Mark and his friends recreated the Battle of Gettysburg as a school project. As a history teacher and an uncle, I have to be very proud.
Chapter Two: Wherein I become the sole guardian and protector of an orphan
“I am not a pie thief,” said I, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the limited light of the little room. “If anything, I am a procurer of pies to be paid for at a later time, that is to say an eater of pies on account.”
“I don’t judge you,” said the little voice from the dark corner. “After all, am I not incarcerated for the same crime? It may well have been the same pie that I attempted to steal earlier in the evening that you tried to…”
“Check for doneness,” I interrupted.
“Steal.”
“Taste test.”
“Steal.”
“Borrow.”
“Steal.”
“For someone who doesn’t judge, you seem quite judgmental to me,” I opined. “And if self control did escape me for a moment, could I be blamed. Here am I, a cold and weary traveler from a far land, cold to the bone and hungry. And there sits a pie, and not just any pie, but a pie for the ages, sitting as if waiting especially for me, on the window ledge.”
“Mistress Gaston is an excellent pie smith.”
“I shall have to take your word for that.” said I, starting to make out the form of a child. “And what is it they call you, lad?”
“I am called Galfrid.”
“Come out of the corner and let me have a look at you.”
“Promise me that you won’t hurt me,” said he.
“All the country knows the name of Eaglethorpe Buxton and it knows that he is not one to harm children and ladies, nor old people or the infirm. Rather he is a friend to those who are need of a friend and a protector to those who are in need of a protector and a guardian to those who are in need of a guardian.”
“So long as it is not a pie that needs guarding,” said he.
“Pies are something altogether unique. Pies are special, that is to say they are wonderful, but not rare. No, indeed they are common, but that does not make them worthless. Quite the contrary. Life is quite like a pie, at least in-so-much-as a life lived well is like a pie—warm and delicious on the inside with a protective crust. There are places in the world where pies are worshiped.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“There is no place in the world where pies are worshipped.”
“That is not worshipped, but revered as one might revere the saints.”
“No.”
“Far to the east of here, in the city of Bertold, in the land of Holland, they revere pies.”
“No. There is no city of Bertold in Holland and nowhere east of here do they revere pies.”
“You are a saucy boy,” said I. “And if they do not revere pies east of here, then I should not like to travel in that direction.”
“So are you implying that you are this Englethorpe Boxcar and that I therefore have nothing to fear from you?”
“Eaglethorpe, with an A instead of an N, and Buxton, with an X and a ton, and yes, I am he and you have nothing to fear. Though to be sure there are plenty who would claim the name of Eaglethorpe Buxton, with and E not an N and an X and a ton, because greatness will ever have its imitators.”
“So you might well be an imposter,” said he.
“You may rest assured that I am not,” said I.
“But if you were an imposter, would you not insist that you were not an imposter?”
“You may be sure that I would.”
“Then how can I trust that you are the real Englethorp Boxcar?”
“Just look at me!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms out and giving him a good look.
“Swear that you will not harm me?” said he. “And furthermore, swear that you will be my protector and guardian until I can return to my home?”
“How far away do you live?”
“Not far.”
“I swear to be your protector and guardian until you reach you home, though it be on the far side of creation,” said I. “Now come closer and let me get the measure of you.”
The lad crept forward until he stepped into a beam of moonlight shining through a space between the boards of the shack wall. He was a slight little ragamuffin, with a build that suggested he had not eaten in some time. He had a dirty face and wool cap pulled down to his eyes. His clothes were dirty and torn, but I immediately noticed that his shoes while dirty seemed too fine for a ragamuffin such as this. I asked upon them.
“You see, Sir Boxcar, my parents were, um… cobblers… but they died, leaving me a destitute and lonely orphan child. These shoes were the only things they left me.”
“May they rest in peace,” said I, whipping off my cap, which is only proper courtesy to offer, even if one is only offering it to an orphan. “But on to the situation at hand. I see that you are a sturdy boy, despite your condition. Why did you not bust out of this shack? It looks as though it would take no more than a couple of kicks.”
The lad stared at me with his mouth open, obviously chagrined that he had not thought of this means of escape himself. “Yes,” he said at last. “I am a sturdy boy…. but I think you will find the shack is sturdier than it looks. It is hammered together with iron nails.”
I turned and leveled a kick at the side wall through which crack I had but a moment before been peering through. One of the boards flew off, landing in the snow six or seven feet away and leaving an opening almost big enough for the boy to pass through. I kicked a second board off the side of the structure and I was outside in a jiffy. Turning around, I reached through to aid my companion’s escape.
“Come along orphan,” said I.
I’ve decided on my first book for the reading challenge (see the right column). It’s O Pioneers! by Willa Cather. I’ve always wanted to read a Cather book and never have. I just finished and now it’s right back to Team of Rivals. I enjoyed O Pioneers! very much. It really made me want to write. I recommend it to anyone.
Everyone will have posted their New Year’s Resolutions by now. But better late than never.
Personal Resolutions:
Try to eat better.
Specifically try to eat some fruit each day and a healthy after-school snack.
Cook real food more often.
Pass my Masters classes with As. I started them January 3rd.
Writing Resolutions:
Write each week.
Spend some time right after school writing and working on the previously mentioned classes.
Blogging Resolutions:
Post more excerpts.
Post daily.
Add more free pdf’s.
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“They are just curious about you,” she said. “I’m surprised they aren’t sniffing at you, Patience. They don’t seem to even notice you.”
“Hey Harriet,” said Mike. “Didn’t you just say you needed some more potting soil or something?”
“You’ll never know how surprised I am that you heard that much of what I said,” she replied. “But yes, I do.”
“Let’s run over to Lowe’s and get it.”
“Well, I have the quiche halfway done.”
“Patience can finish that up for you,” said Mike, looking at his girlfriend for, and seeing in her face, confirmation. “You and I can run to the store.”
“I thought real men didn’t eat quiche,” said Jack.
“Real men eat whatever the hell they want to eat,” said Mike, managing to keep most of the derision out of his tone.
“Come on Daddy,” said Harriet.
Father and daughter took a quick drive down the block to the neighborhood home improvement store. Mike hadn’t really wanted to help pick out potting soil. What he wanted was more reassurance that his daughter was not bothered by his relationship with a robot. She was very reassuring. She seemed as happy that Patience was in her father’s life as he was. Their conversation on the topic ended just before they reached home again with two forty pound bags of planting soil.
“One more thing Dad,” said Harriet, who only called Mike ‘Dad’ when she was angry or serious. “Try to be nicer to Jack. Don’t talk to him like he’s a moron.”
“Well he is a…”
“It’s his house, Dad.”
“Yeah, alright,” conceded Mike.
Mike tossed the two bags of soil over his shoulder and followed Harriet through the gate and around the house to the back yard. He tossed them down beside the flower bed and dusted the dirt off of his shirt.
“Why don’t you go see if Patience needs any help,” said Harriet. “I want to get these last two Verbena in the ground before dinner.”
“Okay.”
Mike walked in and found Patience standing by the stove and Jack leaning on the counter nearby. Patience gave him the kind of smile most people reserve for someone they thought lost at sea or perhaps for Hunter Tylo when she was carrying an oversized novelty check for ten million dollars from Digital Clearinghouse. There was something shifty in Jack’s expression though. Mike asked what was going on. They both spoke at once.
“Nothing,”
“Jack fondled me.”
The look of shock had not even completely registered on Jack’s face, when Mike grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him through the kitchen and out the door into the garage. Calling for Patience to stay and finish dinner, he shut the door after him. Jack was beginning to square his shoulders. Mike shoved him back against the wall of the garage.
“Hey, don’t get all jealous,” Jack began. “She’s just a sexbot.”
Mike grabbed Jack’s face in his right hand and slammed it once again into the wall, this time making a large, round dent in the unfinished wallboard. He squeezed his fingers together until Jack looked as though he were doing an imitation of a fish.
“You don’t get it!” hissed Mike. “This isn’t about Patience! This is about Harriet! This is about my daughter.”
Jack’s eyes got rounder.
“If you ever hurt my little girl, if you ever cheat on her, I will kill you.”
Once more, Jack’s head slammed against the wall.
“If you want to leave. Tell her. Get a divorce. Now is a good time. There aren’t any kids yet. But if you stick around and then cheat on her, I will kill you.
“I… will… kill… you.” said Mike. “It won’t be quick. It won’t be painless. And you know what? I’ll even get away with it. Look me in the eye. See if you can tell if I’m serious or not.”
Jack’s round eyes rolled over in his head to focus on Mike’s close, way too close, face. A look of recognition crossed those eyes. Mike crinkled his nose, then looked down at the spreading wet spot in Jack’s pants and the widening puddle of urine forming on the floor around Jack’s shoes. Mike let go.
“Get cleaned up,” he said, heading back into the house.
Harriet was in the kitchen with Patience, washing her hands in the sink.
“What were you two talking about in the garage?” she asked.
“I was just apologizing for being such an ass before,” said Mike, as he heard Jack enter behind him. “But, uh, Jack spilled his drink. So he needs to go change his pants.”
“That’s fine,” said Harriet. “Patience and I are just getting ready to set the table.”
Mike thought that it was the best quiche that he had ever eaten. Sautéed green beans and fresh fruit completed the meal. Harriet was a little concerned that Patience wasn’t eating anything, but Mike assured her that this was completely normal. He also pointed out that Jack wasn’t eating much either. Jack apparently didn’t feel well and everyone agreed that he looked a little green around the gills.
“I heard you speaking to Jack in the garage,” said Patience on their way home.
“You could hear everything?” asked Mike.
“Yes.”
“Are you upset with me?”
“No, Mike. I could never be upset with you.”
“I just thought that you might be disappointed that I wasn’t more jealous over you.”
“No, Mike.”
“You’re not feeling jealous yourself? Or upset that I love Harriet more than I love you?”
“I would expect you to love her more than you love me,” said Patience. “You have known me for only a few days. You’ve known her all her life. Your love for your children is just one of the many things I like about you, Mike.”
City of Amathar 
