How did Harald the Merciless turn out to be such a bully?

Another excerpt from The Reptile Wars:

“What were you thinkin’ of, Baalfire,” sneers Harald, batting the top of my head.  “Bringin’ your little sister?  You got squirrel meat for brains or what?”  One or two of the other gang members snigger, so pleased are they to have someone else in the firing line.   I let it pass – for now.  Avoid trouble.  I’ve let a few things

pass.  Despite my usual avoidance tactics, I know there will be showdown one of these days.  Soon.

  I suspect Harald is having the same thought, for he says, “Let me tell you, Mr Disappearing Baalfire, a thing or two about the great and mighty Harald Ruffsnape.  My old dada, night after night with his head

in a pan of cider and his belly resting on the table, calls from his bed for a flagon of mead.  ‘I got demons dancin’ around inside my head, Harald,’ he says.  ‘And they’re all wearin’ them Frenchie wooden sabots.  The noise they be makin’ is something atrocious.  A little mead will settle them, I’m sure of it.’

‘Mead?’ I says, roused from a deep sleep in which I been wrestlin’ with the strangest forest creatures and chewin’ their heads off.  So I staggers from my bed in the direction of the barrel of mead.  Now by the age of ten, I have grown quite a fine belly of my own.  By then, my arms had the strength of young men double my age.  And by the time I heat up the mead and carry it to His Almighty Drunken Laziness, I  decide the time has come.  The time is now.  This is it.  So, holding it high above my old man’s grasping hands unable to reach because of the dancing demons, I upend the flagon.  Oh, dear!  It is sticky and it is hot.

Gideon – that’s my old dada’s name – he lets out the kind of bloodcurdling scream of agony you hear when you slit a pig’s throat.  He jumps out of bed and prepares to commit murder.  This is the moment…  You listenin’ to this Baalfire?  This is the moment when we stand belly to belly, so that who’s in charge in this god-forsaken house is about to pass from his hands to my hands. ‘You… you… you no-good-son-of-mine, you’re goin’ to wish you were never born!’ That’s what he screams at me.  And I says, ‘I already wish that, papa, oh dada of mine.’

Now he pushes past his only son, finds himself a hefty stick by the door, and returns only to have it wrenched from his hands and cracked over his own skull.  ‘Fine stick, dada.  I couldn’t have chosen a better one myself.’  My dada always did have a good eye for the choosing of sticks.  But he didn’t do that again.  No longer did I let him lie around and have me do all the work.  From that day on, dada becomes slave to the son.  For I had a lot on my plate besides extra rations of bread, fresh meat and boiled turnip.  There are boys to be rounded up.  Dogs to be kicked.  Ageing villagers to be tormented.  And sniveling weaklings to be sorted.” 

He reaches out to prod me in the shoulder, only I push his hand away.  He just grins.

“When you goin’ to tie a pretty ribbon in that hair of yours, Baalfire, and be a proper girl?”

I save my reply for another day.  

BUY IT HERE:   

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Is it a Dragon?

TODAY IS THE LAST DAY OF THE FREE PROMOTION OF THE REPTILE WARS.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Reptile-Wars-Earth-ebook/dp/B00JPL5SKM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1402329028&sr=8-2

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Here is an excerpt from this medieval fantasy, ispired by a real historical figures - El Drac, an Arabic warlord, and King James of Aragon.  At this point in the story of The Reptile Wars, something is spotted on the brow of the hill.

Suddenly, something dark blocks the moonlight.  It’s there.  We see something for a split-second, then it’s gone.  Was it on the top of Bartholomew Hill or in the sky?  There’s nothing to see now.  “Tom, did you see that?” I say, scanning the horizon.  Still lapsing into my old ways of thinking, I figure: a paraglider, plane, helicopter, drone?  No, of course not.  Tom’s mouth is open, but he doesn’t answer.

“There it is again,” I say.  Ellyn sees it too.  They all see it.  Like a black sheet being shaken in front of the moon and the sound of a sudden gust of wind.  Then something like a crack of angry thunder.  This is followed by a glow.  An orange glow.  It should be a pleasant, gentle reddening of the sky, but there’s something sinister and wrong about it.  Something unnatural.

Geoffrey can’t stop the tremors taking hold of his body.  “No,” he mutters, crossing himself.  “No.  Oh, please, Lord, protect us.”  He breaks loose from us, steadies himself on the solid trunk of a gnarled tree, and starts to moan before falling to his knees and trying to pray.  Tom’s dog whimpers and cowers beside him.

We stand and watch as the orange-red glow grows deeper and stronger and becomes a blaze of spitting, crackling light.  It breaks out in other places, somewhere behind that hill.  Astryd grabs the man by the shoulders.  “Geoffrey!”  she cries, trying to shake some sense out of him.  “Do you know what’s going on?  What’s happening over there?”  He can’t answer.  His distress and agony are too much.  But Astryd persists.  “You knew this was going to happen, didn’t you!  Didn’t you!”

The night sky itself is turning scarlet.  Deerwood is on fire.

“I wanted you to be safe.  I wanted us all to be safe.  You and Ellyn and Vincent and Tom.”

“But our houses!  The others!  What have you done?”

Ellyn is crying pitifully.  Astryd pulls her close.  But then we all throw ourselves to the ground.  There’s a rush of wind like some kind of cyclone that breaks branches and scatters brushwood everywhere.  The two horses that pulled the wagon buck and panic and flee, turning the whole thing on its side before breaking free.  For out of the smoke and flames comes something black and unidentifiable.  Bigger than any bird but shapeless.  It soars across the brow of the hill, swoops low over our heads, just a wingbeat away, and disappears over the treetops into the night.

Face-to-face with Harald the Merciless

Once Vinny arrives in the medieval village of Deerwood, he is challenged by Harald Ruffsnape, nicknamed The Merciless.

One of the bigger, more aggressive boys steps forward.  “You tell him, Harald!” they all shout.  “Harald Ruffsnape’ll sort you out.”  I have this in-built bully-detector – I don’t like them – and it goes off as soon as they move or open their mouth.  They bring out the worst in me.

“I know how we can tell,” says Harald.  “The red lock.  He ain’t got it and that’ll prove he ain’t a Baalfire.”  With the crowd baying their agreement, he goes to yank at my hood.  I push his hand away.

“Whoa!” I say, holding my nose.  “Body odour!  Ever thought of washing?”  I can see the wheels in Harald’s head whirring around.

“Washing?  That’s what rain’s for.”

I wave my hand in front of my face.  It’s the smell of the pig fat in Harald’s straw-colored hair that is so overpowering.  “You may be a belligerent moron,” I tell him, “and you could do with borrowing a bottle of deodorant, but I like your hair.  You must rub pig fat into your hair every morning, snatch chubby handfuls of it and pull it up into spikes.”  I nod slowly.  ‘Yeh.  Cool.”

While the belligerent moron is working out belligerent moron, deodorant, yeh and cool, I reach over.  “Excuse me, Harald,” I say and remove the hand clutching Astryd.  The old man can’t believe he has just been touched by a cursed demon and he stares at his skin expecting it to start rotting any minute.

“I’d put something on that,” I growl at him, “before it melts.”  I figure this is the moment to pull back my hood to reveal the red streak in the thick of my black hair.  “Vincent of Baalfire.”  The petrified man shakes uncontrollably, but can’t find his voice.  No one else speaks.  They all lose control of their mouths.  For there it is, of course: the unmistakable sign of the Balfour family and, it seems, the Baalfire family.  The red lock of hair. The boy who was lost, the boy who some said was dead, has come back.  Or so they believe.  “Say it!  Repeat after me: Vincent of Baalfire!”  One or two find their voices and mutter the words.

Harald is no longer trying to figure out what I’ve just said to him and whether a belligerent moron is a good thing to be or not.  So he settles for gloating.

“Well, well, miracle boy.  So you got lost and you got found again.  Don’t know where you been for near ‘nough a whole year.  Maybe them wolves ate you up.  Then I reckon they spat you out again ‘cos you tastes like foul, nasty, foul stuff.  And then them twitchy little fairy elves got hold of you and dressed you up like a proper bluebell with twinkletoe shoes, you numkin’.”  Other boys, part of Harald’s gang I suspect, mingling in the crowd, hoot with laughter and point.  But the fun and the fear is fading.  One by one, they disperse, but not before Harald walks straight up to me again.  He looks me straight in the eye.  A challenge.  A provocation.  And thinking this is not the moment to flinch, I stare straight back.  “Huh,” sneers Harald eventually, and he prods me in the chest before he walks away chuckling to himself, “Twinkletoed bluebell.  Hah!”

This is an excerpt from The Reptile Wars, currently being offered as a free promotion on Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JPL5SKM

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00JPL5SKM?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

The backstory, explaining how Harald came to be the way he is can be found here:

http://www.amazon.com/Bullying-Harald-Ruffsnape-Reptile-Wars-ebook/dp/B008H4WUV8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402242802&sr=8-1&keywords=the+bullying+of+harald+ruffsnape

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Medieval Fantasy - a Promise of Death

Vinny's prospects in the 13th century don't look too promising.  Thrown back in time, he is mistaken for the long lost son of Radulph of Baalfire, but not by Radulph himself.

Radulph leans forward.  The inky black facial stubble brushes against my cheek.  I flinch as he comes close to my ear.  “I don’t know who you are.  My wife believes you are our son, miraculously returned to us.  Perhaps the devil gave you some of the likeness  of him.    For  you have  something  of his look.  Had you not, your neck would be broken by now.”  He wrenches the reins out of my hands and turns Zel to trot towards the castle gate.  “The loss of her son has made her mad.”  The horse’s hooves pound across the drawbridge.  “This will be a long campaign.  I’m sure of it.  There will be many battles.  James of Aragon is over-stretched, and his enemy, El Drac – they say he is some sort of demon and can turn himself into a dragon.  Huh!  They say his fortress is protected by hobgoblins and the howling of lost souls.  Whatever they say, I will kill him.  Then, when I come back, I will kill you too.  Whoever you are.”

See below for a link to a free download of the ebook, The Reptile Wars. 

Stallion and Wardogs

In the following paragraphs from The Reptile Wars Vinny finds out Radulph's terrible secret:

Nearby, one of the wardogs, a heavily-built mastiff, is going berserk.  Probably was born berserk. Its handler, an irritable old farmer, covered in cowshit from the waist down and, I’d say, chickenshit from the waist up, is having trouble controlling it.  I suspect he uses it to keep people off his land, though I’m sure the state of his clothes would do that pretty well.  Suddenly, the animal pulls free.  The poor old wretch of a farmer, rivers of sweat running down his face into his grizzled beard, beats it with his cudgel.  He kicks at it to keep it from mauling him.  As it runs around wildly, Astryd screams and draws back into the crowd.  Right away, the animal is surrounded by a circle completely emptied of people.  It glares at everyone ominously, eyes full of loathing.  For a moment it’s undecided.  Then, without warning, it lunges wildly at the fetlocks of Zel.  When the stallion rears, I’m almost hurled to the ground.

“Easy,” I say.  “Easy.”  As if that’s going to make any difference.

As the hooves come down, they lash out at the mastiff.  Radulph mutters in my ear.  “You are not my son.”  I strain to listen and hold on to the reins and Zel’s mane at the same time.  The wardog persists.  Snapping.  Snarling.  The stallion rears again.  Comes down again kicking furiously.  “My son, Vincent, is dead.”  The growls of the mastiff fire up the savage blood-lust of other wardogs, who add to the frenzied yelping.  “Of this I am sure.  You have fooled my wife.  Impostor.”

A third time, the horse rears up and its hooves come down hard.  This time solidly on the brute’s skull.  “I know this,” says Radulph.  “For I killed him.”  There’s a moment of silence.  The wardog slumps to the ground.  For a few seconds, the hind legs twitch.  Then it lies still.  Forever.  A jagged crack across the skull.  Pink saliva trickles from its mouth.  Blood mingles with the dust.

A copy of The Reptile Wars is currently free to download from Amazon.

Oh dear, Vinny, are you lost in some fantasy world?

In The Reptile Wars, it takes a while for Vinny to figure out what has happened to him.  But he doesn't like what he hears in the confines of Castle Hazard.

The Prince’s face is pale and sharp like chalk cliffs.  His eyes deep, dark slits.  He looks worse than ill.  Possessed?  If you were to ask me – and I admit I’m a latecomer to this party and don’t know a soul, but I’ve been to the movies – I’d say that  the evil that possesses him, controls him, stands right there, beside him, at his shoulder.  It’s got to be obvious to everybody.  Because when he speaks, Phar Lazar tilts his head towards him, the fingers dig deeper, so that the words come out of Prince Ynyr’s mouth, but the thoughts are those of Phar Lazar.

“My lords, my subjects, my friends.”  The Prince has to steady himself before he continues.  “Seek out the enemy of Christendom, the enemy of King James of Aragon and the Pope.  The enemy of us all.  This vile creature’s name is El Drac.  He is one from the northern coast of Africa.  The land of the people they call the Moors.  But he is now a warlord in the land of Aragon.  He does not believe in our God.  He is one who can make the trees uproot and walk.  Make rocks fall from the sky.  With a wave of his hand, he can turn your fields of corn into serpents.  Set these clouds above aflame.  And kill your children with a look.”

The words curl like a 12-bar blues chorus from the mind of Phar Lazar, out from the lips of the Prince, round the stone buttresses of the castle and hook into the crowd gathered below.  “El Drac!  The dragon-devil.  He is the evil one.  A dragon in the false shape of a man.  El Drac!  Find him and destroy him.  Chase him from our lands.  Hound  him back to the very doors of Hell.  Believe this.  He is the son of Hell and back to the fire he must return!”

The Reptile Wars is available as a free download.  Check below for the appropriate link for you.

Dragons and Dilemmas

Right at the beginning of The Reptile Wars, Vinny is faced with a dilemma - to believe the content of his father's letter or not.  Where has monkey gone?  And what about the lizard zoo upstairs?

Ok, the letter.  Let’s open the damn thing.

I’m going to burn it down, Vincent!  Burn down the house.  Burn the whole thing down.  If you’re reading this letter, then it’s too late for me.  So, get out before the whole place goes up in flames.

What?  Well, that’s a good start.

I’m going to burn it down, Vincent!  Burn down the house.

Can you believe this?  It’s some kind of joke, right?  Sad, mad, old pappy must have totally flipped.  Yeh, yeh.  Not worth getting excited about.  Not worth the stupid pizza  and  sliding  ketchup  stain I’ve just made on my hoodie and jeans.  Looks like Dad’s finally found a chair in the crackpot corner.  Well, at least he remembered my name.  That’s something, I suppose.  

The Reptile Wars is free at this moment.  Get it here or see the other links below:

http://www.amazon.com/Reptile-Wars-Earth-ebook/dp/B00JPL5SKM/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1402078845

Excerpt from The Reptile Wars

Here is a taster of the central character, Vinny's, background, his life in the 21st century, before he is hurled back into the 13th century and is caught up in the evil plans of the monk, Phar Lazar, intent on living forever.

Dad’s letter’s here.  Special delivery – address of sender unknown.  Don’t want to open it.  It’s right next to me on the table.  It’s been here for the whole weekend, unopened.  What’s the point?  What will it say?  To Vinny, from Sir Peter Balfour, hello and goodbye, supper’s in the supermarket – that’s him.  Spends most of his time away.  Even more so recently.  Yet somehow he’s always been a strong presence in the house.  Know what I mean?  Like a shadow in a dark corner.  An echo down a long corridor.  Mother?  Died at birth – my birth, not hers, obviously.

From time to time, of course, I can always watch Dad on television if I really want to.  In some distant part of the world, his face filling the screen, his dark piercing eyes, beneath the arching black eyebrows, staring straight over my shoulder.  You can see him on the trail of a near-extinct Amazonian lizard or a fatally poisonous snake that hangs its hat only in Congo swamps.  Arguing on some talk show about the power of the reptilian brain.  You see, although the scientific world thinks he’s a complete and utter nutbar, an out-of-sanity experience, and they’re absolutely right, TV love him.  They’re mad about his crazy ideas.  He’s a joke.  But a rich joke.

You can imagine producers sitting around, having a chat, saying things like, “Shall we get that woman who paints herself pink and yellow stripes, has a tattoo that says This is not the ass I was born with, and plays Ghost Riders in the Sky on an accordion made out of bagels?  Or shall we get Sir Peter in again and get him to repeat all that drivel about how we could all be changing colour, walking up walls, and catching praying mantises with our tongues from a distance of three metres – if we only tried a bit harder?”  No contest.

Check Amazon for a free download.  If you are interested in writing a review, leave me a message and I will email you a free copy.

Free Medieval Fantasy Story

If you're quick, you can get The Reptile Wars as a free download.  Here is the elevator pitch:

Rock-guitar playing, fast-food eating Vinny Balfour drives his father's motorbike through a stained-glass window and gatecrashes the 13th century Reptile Wars.

A review is always nice but not essential.  Feedback is already very positive.

http://www.amazon.com/Reptile-Wars-Earth-ebook/dp/B00JPL5SKM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1402078845

UK - http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Reptile-Wars-Jim-Edmiston/dp/1497594995/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1402078719&sr=8-3&keywords=the+reptile+wars

CA - http://www.amazon.ca/Reptile-Wars-Earth-ebook/dp/B00JPL5SKM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402078787&sr=8-1&keywords=the+reptile+wars

DE - http://www.amazon.de/The-Reptile-Wars-Jim-Edmiston/dp/1497594995/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402078845&sr=8-1&keywords=the+reptile+wars

Review of Dark Expanse: Surviving the Collapse

Here is something that might interest you: a series of short science fiction stories that illuminate the political landscape behind a free internet game.  This is my review:

So... this is what happens when the gods desert you.  In the case of Dark Expanse – a series of eighteen short stories shedding light on the internet game of the same name – the omnipotent, controlling Zyxlar have inexplicably abandoned the many races of the universe to cope as best they can.

Award-winning authors describe with originality and mastery of the genre how Terrans, Silicates, Saurians, insect-like Chitters, mind-reading Kanzai, gaseous Methenes and the powerful Vilicus all rub along in the ensuing chaos.  Suspicions are fuelled or overcome, alliances brokered and broken, with piracy and opportunism rife.  There’s action, political strategy and personal relationships.

If, like me, you prefer dialogue to express emotion and character, rather than point at outlandish, dream-like technology, you will enjoy the skills of Nancy Fulda and David Wynne.  Simon Kewin and Matt Mikalatos both explore religious belief and moral dilemmas: the Kewin in Hellfire Unleashed, where life-forms are destroyed if they are sentient and hence dangerous; and Mikalatos in A Small and Secret Freedom, where believers discover that the stories surrounding their saviour are untrue and that he’s now a slave.  In The Price of Escape, David Walton’s comically bumbling hero stumbles from one terrible situation to another before coming out on top. 

Some of the authors on board, as you might expect, have a greater facility when it comes to describing action, landscape, conversation and character.  But you will be drawn into this universe, where good and evil is not black and white and, convincingly, reflects familiar political realities and social relationships.  Game-player or not, if you like science fiction, you will enjoy the Dark Expanse.  

If you are interested, you can find it here:

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Expanse-Surviving-Ken-Liu-ebook/dp/B00J499AT0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1400665310&sr=8-1&keywords=the+dark+expanse

The Reptile Wars - paperback

I've just received my first copies of the paperback version of The Reptile Wars, so it should be on Amazon's shelves in a week or so.  I have to say even some non-fantasy readers think it looks not bad.  Not bad is Scottish for pretty good, which is English for... well, being Scottish, I don't think I can translate it into American English.  But the cover is on this page and, at the moment, the link to the ebook is here.  There's a lot in it (a life-changing fire, a shaking up of time, mistaken identity, suggestion of an impossible relationship, a long journey, a confrontation with murderers and a mutant, an evil being that wants to live forever, and a final battle with an emergent reptile)  and there's a lot more to come - at least two sequels.  At the moment, I seem to be writing them both at once, with an entirely different story tugging at my writing elbow.

The paperbacks were nice to come home to.  By that I mean, we were a short time - too short - in Andalusia, starting in Malaga then taking the train to Seville.  Such a wonderful place.  If you haven't been, go!  Tapas great, temperature fantastic (maybe too hot in summer), wine was even better, people warm and helpful, trains easy to figure out, and learning enough Spanish to order was not difficult.  The only problem was, I forgot to bring home Manchego.

But it is also the general area in which parts of the book is set in, so I take every opportunity to go there. What is so fascinating about southern Spain (and inspired the book), of course, is the Moorish / Arabic influence, the meeting of the Middle East and Africa and Europe, where Christianity and Islam together produced something as amazing as the Mezquita in Cordoba.

21st Century Vinny in 13th Century

I'll be away in Spain for about a week - in the area where part of The Reptile Wars is set.  In the meantime, here is another excerpt.  Vinny has been mistaken for Vincent of Baalfire.  However, Radulph of Baalfire, astride his horse, Zel, is not convinced. In this scene, Vinny has just been dragged up on to the horse in front of Radulph:

Me?  Hold the reins.  As I take the reins, Zel shakes his head so violently that I would have

been thrown off if Radulph hadn’t gripped me tightly round the waist.  I’ve ridden before.

But never on a horse as wild and powerful as this creature.  So I stroke its neck.  Lean close

to its ear and ask it to be kind to me.

Nearby, one of the wardogs, a heavily-built mastiff, is going berserk.  Probably was born

berserk. Its handler, an irritable old farmer, covered in cowshit from the waist down and,

I’d say, chickenshit from the waist up, is having trouble controlling it.  I suspect he uses it to 

keep people off his land, though I’m sure the state of his clothes would do that pretty 

well.  Suddenly, the animal pulls free.  The poor old wretch of a farmer, rivers of sweat 

running down his face into his grizzled beard, beats it with his cudgel.  He kicks at it to

keep it from mauling him.  As it runs around wildly, Astryd screams and draws back into 

the crowd.  Right away, the animal is surrounded by a circle completely emptied of people.  

It glares at everyone ominously, eyes full of loathing.  For a moment it’s undecided.  

Then, without warning, it lunges wildly at the fetlocks of Zel.  When the stallion rears, I'm 

almost hurled to the ground.

“Easy,” I say.  “Easy.”  As if that’s going to make any difference.

As the hooves come down, they lash out at the mastiff.  Radulph mutters in my ear.  “You 

are not my son.”  I strain to listen and hold on to the reins and Zel’s mane at the same time. 

The wardog persists.  Snapping.  Snarling.  The stallion rears again.  Comes down again 

kicking furiously.  “My son, Vincent, is dead.”  The growls of the mastiff fire up the savage 

blood-lust of other wardogs, who add to the frenzied yelping.  “Of this I am sure.  You 

have fooled my wife.  Impostor.”

A third time, the horse rears up and its hooves come down hard.  This time solidly on the 

brute’s skull.  “I know this,” says Radulph.  “For I killed him.”  There’s a moment of silence.  

The wardog slumps to the ground.  For a few seconds, the hind legs twitch.  Then it lies 

still.  Forever.  A jagged crack across the skull.  Pink saliva trickles from its mouth.  Blood 

mingles with the dust. 

Characters: King James of Aragon, El Drac, Harald the Merciless

The Reptile Wars - a complete historical fantasy was, nonetheless, based on actual events and one or two real people.

Sir Peter Balfour: (not his real name) is an evolutionary scientist exploring links between the genetic make-up of reptiles and human beings, in particular the development of the human brain from its early reptilian beginnings.

King James of Aragon: also known as James I the Conquistador lived from 1208 - 1276.  After uniting Aragon, he conquered the Kingdom of Valencia.

El Drac: also 1208 - 1276 was a Moorish commander in what is now southern Spain.  He signed a treaty with King James in 1245.  The local people would bring naughty children into line with the words:  "Be good or El Drac will eat you!"

Harald the Merciless: Harald Ruffsnape is called after the notorious and vicious King of Norway about whom stories were common in medieval England.

BUT WHO IS VINNY?

Forgot About the Murderers

Oh, I forgot to mention the two murderers Vinny meets on his journey to Aragon.  They are called Mr Luc and Mr Rangel.  Here is a short excerpt from that encounter:

“Got ya, Mr Rangel.  Now, my boy, speak up, ‘cos we are murderers.”

“Shut up, Mr Luc, please.  Don’t say we are murderers.  Not murderers.  Not murderers as such,

 young man.  Just a little homicide.  That’s all.  Just a little.  Homicide.  From time to time.  Not…

 regular.”

“Homicide?”  I say, stepping under Zel’s head to the horse’s left flank, where I’ve tied my

 scabbard to the saddle.  The threat is clear enough.  “Yeh, I’ve heard about homicide.  Not very

 nice, is it?  Not very friendly.”

“Ah, but we,” explains Rangel, covering Luc’s face with his massive hand and pushing him to the

 ground, “we have the homicide pardon, you see.  From King James himself.  We have the

 parchment.  Show the young man the parchment, Luc.  The Pope has said prayers for our

 murdering ways.  So that we might join the crusade against the Muslim Moors.  And the King has

 pardoned us, as we have the leftovers of murdering skills.  From a previous life, you understand.

 Such that are required for the crusading manner of employment.  Show the young man the

 parchment that was passed from the King’s blessed hand to our very own.  The piece of 

 delightful parchment that says what has gone on – in the murkiness of our past – in a murdering

 sort of way – is now all forgiven – with the King’s very hand – signed at the bottom – in proper

 writing.”

More About The Reptile Wars

This is a story about a crazy scientist's son, Vinny, who gets caught up in the subject of his father's dangerous research into evolution and the potential for genetic crossover between human beings and reptiles.  Vinny falls through a rip in time and comes face-to-face with the aggressive, predatory nature of the reptilian brain played out in a war between Christians and Moors of the 13th century.  Here, he has to deal with Harald the Merciless, a strange undead manipulator called Phar Lazar and his drugged-up puppet, Prince Ynyr.  On Vinny's side are Eneko Azenari, a wolfkiller, and a giant poet called Gonzalo de Zanj.

But this is only the start of this story, or the beginning may be yet to come.  For two books are to follow: one featuring the writings of Gonzalo de Zanj, centuries later, when they get into the hands of an extreme religious cult in Victorian times; and another, set in 2883, when some of these characters are still to be found attempting to control the human life span.

New Release - The Reptile Wars

While Janyka is having trouble looking after David and Del is about to leave Audrey the Marauder, the novel - The Reptile Wars - in which it all began has just been released.

The paperback will be out in a few weeks but you can download it here:

US:  http://www.amazon.com/The-Reptile-Wars-Earth-ebook/dp/B00JPL5SKM/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1397743471&sr=8-2&keywords=the+reptile+wars

UK:   http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Reptile-Wars-Earth-ebook/dp/B00JPL5SKM/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1397743178&sr=8-5&keywords=the+reptile+wars

In it you'll discover Janyka's attempts to get the root of her troubles and how the future came to be.  In The Reptile Wars, the future is never far behind; the past is just ahead.

Invalid

A girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, brings some water in a rusty bean can, its edge razor-sharp. I thank her but she returns a scowl beneath the strange, predator's eyebrows. Slowly I check this wreckage of a room. Plaster has given up clinging to the walls, exposing the brickwork, and in some places the outside world. Water dripping from the ceiling forms stagnant , green pools on a rotting carpet. Five or six wooden pallets act as safe stepping stones to protect the body from whatever viral mutations lurk and breed at floor level. I realise that the stinking mattress I'm lying on, thank Lazar, is also raised up on a pallet. Another one, in the middle of the room, is occupied by a boy, scribbling frantically on a piece of card. He holds it up. It's a picture of me. There's a word underneath, spelt wrongly: INVALLID. Does he means I'm an invalid? Or not valid?

Coma

How long have I been out?  Hours? Days?  The manual states that disengagement should only be conducted under medical supervision.  I know it by heart.  I wrote most of it myself.  I've been present at the surgical removal of all the tubes and arterial channels that bind the human driver to the vehicle - I can see those pictures in my mind - and, despite what the public records say, it's only successful in 10% of cases.  So that bit I know.  I remember my training, I'm aware of breathing, of my pulse, of feeling hungry, of a roughness in every channel and cavern of my body.  But some things haven't totally returned.  My location, my mission, what day it is and my eyesight.  Oh, yeh... and who the hell am I?

Goodbye Audrey

"Goodbye, Audrey.  I hate to leave you this way."  The marauder groans.  I'm inside a sound cocoon and Audrey's grief vibrates my rib cage.  It's a wrench for both of us.  How will she cope without my guidance, my determination, reason and passion?  How long will it take me to adjust to life outside, without her umbilical vincula sending nourishment directly into my stomach, ducting oxygen down my trachea, refreshing my circulation, removing my carbon dioxide, urine and shit?  Our identities have been plugged into each other for a long time now - maybe twenty years.

She says, "It's twenty-two, Del."

Now the tubes are withering and I have to get out fast.  "You'll be ok, Audrey.  They'll come and get you. The Reps never leave marauders lying around to be taken over by the Crack.  Don't worry.  They'll maybe do a refit, a few organ transplants.  I'll come looking for you."  I can hear her voice in my head.  She says she knows she'll be fine, but I can tell she doesn't believe any of it.

"Better go, Del."  The surrounding sounds of respiration and heartbeat that I've taken for granted for most of my adult life are weakening.  She's right. If I don't go now, it'll be too late.  Whether I can acclimatise to life outside is another matter.