Monthly Archives: April 2011

Book Spotlight: Rast by Christopher Hoare

Title: Rast
Author: Christopher J. Hoare
Publisher: MuseItUp Publishing
Publication Date: March 2011
Paperback: 269 pages
ISBN: 978-1-926931-43-2
Genre: High fantasy

In Rast, magic is not a convenient parlour trick, it’s a deadly force that takes no prisoners. Those who must wield it are doomed, for it never ceases to work within the mind and nerves until it destroys its master.

And now, the time of the interregnum is here; the reigning sorcerer king, the Drogar of Rast, is struggling for a last grasp on magic power while his heir, Prince Egon, must take up the deadly mantle. Egon is fearful but courageous in his duty. Not one peril threatens Rast, but many. 

While he struggles to tame the magic to his command the mechanistic Offrang adventurers arrive to seize the land for their empire. The Offrangs don’t just disbelieve in magic, they treat any attempt to discuss it with withering scorn. Then, when the Drogar falters, the North Folk sweep out in their multitudes to cover the land of Rast at the behest of their depraved Casket of Scrolls. Deepning too, a creature of earth magic in its mountain pools, stirs to gain power enough to conquer Rast.

The Prince’s sweetheart Jady does her best to support him, but she is not strong enough in the power of the lineage to bear him a magic wielding heir. She sets out to meet the caravansi of the cousin princess who is sent to be his consort with duty and anger both warring in her mind. The crisis will reveal surprising enemies, surprising friends, and as the Drogar tells Jady, “Even a Drogar may not see a future not yet determined.” While Egon goes west to spy on the Offrangs and Jady makes her way east, the oracle provided by the Pythian that lives in a cavern beneath the palace reveals, “You have no high point to see the scattered threads but must trust to those who grasp them.”

Everyone, enemy and friend, has a part to play in the preservation of Rast.

Book Excerpt:

Chapter Two
Jady pulled firmly on the reins, the tall pickaback reared to his full height and planted his aft-most claws tight into the root-born path. His long body flexed beneath her as three of his six legs pawed at the air. When his middle claws again touched the musty smelling moss she leaned forward to whisper words of an ancient language into his feather covered ears.

Pellad, Cerefrus. Dosar––let me dismount.”

The obedient animal bowed low his head to let the mail-clad maiden slip from the saddle to the forest floor.

She stood a moment, tall and slender in the shadowy forest, watching the flicking movements of her mount’s ears—noticing each glance of golden eyes into the overhanging branches. No single sound or sight held more than a momentary notice––then they were alone. The only other occupants of the small clearing lived in her memory.

Their mound occupied the center. The scavenger-chewed bones of a thousand Krachins decorated its surface, and at the summit sagged the bloodstained talisman of the Soulingas, the family of the first Soule. It hung tattered from its staff, waiting for an eldest son to reclaim and restore it to glory. An eldest son who may never be.

“I cannot help it, father,” she sobbed, falling to her knees before the tomb.

In her mind, he looked down at her and smiled. “I would not ask you to forsake the man you love…but your dreams are sterile.”

“I would receive him in shame––if that were the only way.”

“That can never be. You know he could not––and you deceive yourself if you think you would.”

“But Rast…without the Soulingas––?”

“Your brothers and I are patient with you, but––”

“I could never love another!”

“Have you given any other the leave to win you?”

She knelt silently for many minutes. “Am I making it hard for him?” she said, at length.

“You both know his duty.”

“And yet his father has never spoken harshly to me. Surely if the Drogar saw the error of it he would have ended my hopes.”

“Even the dead cannot see into the mind of a Drogar.”

She breathed in sharply. The thought of her Prince becoming a Drogar in his turn was frightening. Would his gentle glances become veils of ice-hard magic? Not Egon––surely not Egon!

“Do you know why the Drogar sends you at this time?”

“This time? What do you mean?”

“Your Grandfather, my father, saw omens in it.”

“He didn’t speak to me of what he saw.”

“A commission to Deepning is never given lightly.”

She opened her eyes wide to take in the evidence of the tomb. “Three times have I come. Five times if I count the journeys with you and my brothers.”

“But this time the Drogar’s words are stronger, his intent more given in detail.”

“I know not why.”

“Go, Daughter, be about your mission. We cold bones will delay you no longer, but we will ever hold your life to our charge. We will never take rest until you and a husband kneel here—until the son you shall make together can be prepared to take up our talisman.”

Without another word or backward glance she stood and walked to Cerefrus. He bent to allow her to mount. Continuing along the forest paths she rode until she could see the dark overhanging rocks of a mountain through the branches.

Here she dismounted again and set the pickaback loose in a forage dell until her return. She settled the bow of sinew, horn, and wood across her shoulders, tightened the coil of long dark hair beneath her leather helm and glided forward beneath the tangling branches into paths no mounted warrior could follow. Testing again the Vales of Deepning Pools she trembled slightly, shivered within her taught nerves. She stifled her misgivings and set out upon the mission.

The Drogar spoke of some future sons of Soule. Did he mean the words in truth, or were they mere bolsters for her courage?

She walked watchfully; stepped softly. No gentle forest animals stirred, no bird flew. The trees grew tall and twisted as if they had wrestled, each with the other, for every scrap of sunlight falling dappled into the forest. Jady knew the secrets of each. She smelled resin weeping from wounded bark, wooden tears seeping from the trunks where tree had flailed against tree in wind-borne combat. She knew the smells of every forest dweller, and feeling her soft leather boots sink to their moss covered roots, caressed them in her walking.

The Deepning Pools lay above her, in a hanging valley upon the edge of the mountain.

She bent her footsteps up through the slanting trees and followed a path made by the many feet of the only animals strong and fierce enough to live near the magic Vale—the sharptoothed Krarks. Broken branches told of the rough passages they forced with their segmented bodies. Here and there, a fallen tree lay torn in two by mighty claws. Jady reached to touch the crystal-tipped arrows at her waist, and plunged on up the path.

She walked more quickly for about a league. When she felt the magic singing—the distant hints of dangerous melody ringing in her ears—she stopped to take the gossamer net from her pack. Woven by a wraith of midnight sorcery, the heirloom was handed down from distant ancestors. It had shielded generations of warriors from the spells. Fierce, dark-haired men with arms like the roots of trees. Men who let fly the crystal tipped arrows from tempered bows of horn and wood. Brothers, fathers, uncles and grandfathers, descended in unbroken line until at last, the only watcher of the forest was this high-breasted maid—the last of the Soulingas. She carefully draped the shimmering silver over her head and wrapped its folds about her. Safe within the wispy filament from the sirens’ temptation, she stepped gently on, spells buzzing futilely against the gossamer shield as angry bees against the keeper’s net.

Few but the Soulingas could venture into the Vale of Deepning Pools. Even Drogar magic rarely clashed with the fey enchantry—except at a few intervals in the circle of time, force was blocked by force. Prince Egon knew where the Pools lay, but had never glimpsed their glowing, living liquid. Only the Krachins were drawn to the fetid swamps by their lust for sour smelling vapours. The Guardian of the Forest must mark their comings and goings, and when the moment was right thwart their fell intention. Thwart also the evil purpose of the Pool creature, whatever strange reality it might possess––and prevent it gaining living sacrifice.

Only flying crystal point could secure payment and account in such magical commerce.

About Christopher Hoare

Christopher Hoare lives with his wife, Shirley, and two shelter dogs, Coco and Emmie, in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies. As a lad he lived, breathed, and dreamed aeroplanes, won a place at RAE Farnborough learning to engineer them, but found the reality didn’t fit the dream. Did a stint in the army and then away to Libya to join the oil circus. Flying objects only appear as tools when they now appear in his writing.

His stories never take place next door to the lives most people live; the less charitable find similarity in characters who tend to be stubborn, independent, and contrarian. Perhaps there’s a connection between the worlds he portrays in fiction, and his working life in oil exploration in the Libyan Desert, the Canadian Arctic, and the mountains and forests of Western Canada.

He has written stories set in Anglo-Saxon Britain, in modern industrial projects, in the alternate world of Gaia, and the fantasy world of Rast. Sometimes known to satirize jobs and organizations he knows. Likes to write central characters who are smart, beautiful, and dangerous women who lead their male counterparts to fulfill dangerous duties they’d rather avoid. Gisel Matah in the Iskander series is perhaps the most Bond-like of these, but Jady in Rast can match her in many aspects.

Visit his website at http://www.christopherhoare.ca/ to learn much more, and download the free novella “Gisel Matah and the Slave Ship”. You can find his blog at http://trailowner.blogspot.com/

Categories: Fantasy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Plug Your Book Spotlights Azuka Thomson author of Dark Patches

Dark Patches

Author: Azuka Thomson

Title: Dark Patches

Genre: social drama, literary fiction

Language:  English

 ISBN:  UK ISBN 978-1-84698-782-3:     DE ISBN 978-3-8372-0763-7

 Genre: Literary fiction/ Social drama.

Publisher: Frankfurter Literaturverlag

Publication Date: November 2010

# of Pages: 245

Purchase Here:

Link to book on Amazon (or where it is sold): http://www.amazon.de/Dark-Patches-Azuka-Thomson/dp/3837207633/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books-intl-de&qid=1297197255&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Patches-Azuka-Thomson/dp/3837207633/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1297197345&sr=1-1

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Dark-Patches-Azuka-Thomson/dp/3837207633/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1297197458&sr=8-1

Visit Azuka Thomson at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Azuka-Thomson-Dark-Patches/116641701734714

Book Synopsis:

Meet Ndidi, the high school teacher and adoring wife. Blissfully married for seven years, a single question brings her world crashing down.

Grant, Ndidi’s loving husband, is his mother’s only child. Unable to stand up to his relatives, he devises a plan to keep his family together.

Omorose, Grant’s mother, is determined to leave no stones unturned in her quest for more grandchildren, even if it means spiritual intervention.

Josephine is no ordinary second wife. Selfish, manipulative and troublesome, she does not intend to share Grant with Ndidi, so she starts an evil campaign with horrifying consequences.

 As each of them make sacrifices for the sake of a common goal, ruthless bids for power unleash sinister forces of catastrophic proportions….

Excerpt:

Book Excerpt from Dark Patches

“Ndidi, please come and sit down with us,” said Uncle Agadagba. “We have a message for you from the village.”

Surprised, Ndidi walked back to the sitting room and took one of the vacant seats available. As she did so, she realised that the visitors were occupying the couch while her husband was sitting on the single chair next to Uncle Agadagba.

Consequently, she was forced to sit across from them. For a moment it nearly seemed as if they were purposely aligning themselves against her. But Grant would never join anyone against her, she reasoned. So Ndidi tried to smile at them but they were all watching her solemnly, except Grant who was contemplating the carpet. Her smile dimmed as she sensed trouble. They did not keep her waiting.

As the oldest in the group, Pa Ewuru cleared his throat and began.

“Ndidi, we all know that your husband loves you very much and when he married you, we accepted you into the family with open arms. We also know that you are a loving and loyal wife to your husband and that is why we understand his attempt to ignore our traditions and culture.

“Our forefathers told us that any man who gets all his children from the same woman is regarded as the father of only one child. In the days when everyone respected tradition, every Bini man married many wives so he could have many children. These days, some educated people see nothing wrong in a man getting all his children from the same woman. Most of them blame this attitude on lack of money and usually, our elders try not to interfere in the matter.

“Your case, Ndidi, is however an exception. As you know, Osahon is the only surviving son of his father and you have been married to him for more than seven years. In all that time, you have given birth to only one daughter who is nearly five years old. We do not blame you for this situation but the elders cannot sit idly by and watch Osahon waste his energies. He is almost forty years old and time is not on his side. He needs to father more sons and daughters.

“The elders have therefore sent us to seek your cooperation in getting a second wife for Osahon. The decision on how to proceed in this matter is in your hands and we want to hear from you.”

Every word spoken by Pa Ewuru stuck like a sharp knife in Ndidi’s heart. By the end of the speech she was in so much physical pain that she glanced at her chest expecting to see blood. Surprised at the absence of blood, she looked up at her attackers. The three men were staring at the floor. Only her mother-in-law continued to watch her. Ndidi did not say anything because she could not say what she really felt. She felt insulted and wronged and would have liked to ask them to leave her house. But this was Nigeria and she was dealing with her “Bini” in-laws. Only her husband could defend her.

So why is he staring at the carpet and saying nothing? She wondered as she continued to look at him.

Grant’s mother was very pleased with the way her plan was working out. She glanced at her son and noted with satisfaction that he was obeying the elders’ instructions not to interfere. It was time for the little “Erue ahusa ”(bed bug) to know that she did not own Grant. Ndidi had to know her place and a second wife was just the thing. Moreover, Omorose really did need more grandchildren. Grant was her only child and she had so looked forward to having many grandchildren. She was not about to allow Grant’s love for this foolish girl to destroy her dream. No sir, she would see to that.

She looked back at Ndidi and saw her still staring stupidly at Grant. 

“Ndidi,” she chided, “we are not asking Grant to throw you out. We are only asking him to take a second wife who will bear him more children. So stop staring at him and give us an answer.”

When Grant still did not come to her defence, Ndidi knew that the battle was already lost. She tried anyway.

“Uncle, I thank you and the elders for your concern over our welfare.” She began in a low and quavering voice. “Grant and I have only this one child because we planned it so. We are spacing our children to enable us to give them our full attention. We shall have more children when the time is right. Moreover, at twenty-seven, I am still very young and there is nothing wrong with me. I fully expect to bear more children for my husband and therefore see no reason for this . . .”   

“Ndidi,” cut in her mother-in-law, “you can expect all you like but your expectations are not in discussion here. The issue is that your husband needs another wife to bear him children. Even if you are able to have more children in future, it will only increase the number. We are sure that my son can take good care of you all.”

At this point, Ndidi appealed directly to Grant. “Husband,” she asked softly, “what do you say?”

Visit Azuka Thomson at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Azuka-Thomson-Dark-Patches/116641701734714

Categories: literary fiction, Social Drama | Tags: , , , , , , | 4 Comments

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