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Last week, I flew out to Colorado to visit, Erin. Now, it goes without saying that I will leap at any chance to have time with my Peanut. I don’t need excuses to visit. But in this case, we had a bit of an agenda. Erin was in need of a car, and I went out to help her with the purchase.

Yes, she is 25 years old and could have done all of it on her own. But here’s the thing. Statistics show that women, on average, pay more for cars — new and used — than do men. In fact, White men pay the least of all. Women and all people of color will, on average, pay more for the same car, in the same regions, and even at the same dealerships. This is not an imagined form of discrimination. This is real and documented and supported by data.

So, out to Denver I went. We found her a car at a decent price. She’s happy, and I had time with my darling girl.

Erin in her new car!

But . . .

The other night, I finally saw On The Basis of Sex, the Ruth Bader Ginsberg biopic that came out in 2018. The movie is, of course, a Hollywood take on an extraordinary historical figure, and so is bound to suffer from some flaws. But it offers an unstinting look at the barriers placed before RBG, who was always the smartest person in whatever room she entered, and always the best lawyer in any courtroom she graced. In this way, it reminded me of 42, the Jackie Robinson biopic starring the late Chadwick Boseman, and Hidden Figures, which told the stories of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughn, and Mary Jackson, Black NASA mathematicians whose revolutionary work helped make possible the American space program.

In all of these movies (and countless other similar films that I have failed to mention) we are reminded of the irrefutable truth that sexism and racism (as well as homophobia, religious bigotry, and discrimination against people with disabilities) create nearly insurmountable barriers to success for too many.

And this is the insidiousness of the current Administration’s hysterical and irrational assault on DEI programs across the country. The assumption underlying this “policy” is that white, cis, straight males are the standard that define what it means to be qualified and competent. This is, of course, utterly ridiculous, and to see how foolish it is, take a moment to read any online biography of General Charles Q. Brown, the former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff fired by the present occupant of the White House for no other reason than because he happens to be Black. For that matter, take a moment to read a biography of Admiral Linda Fagan, the first female commandant of the Coast Guard, or Admiral Lisa Franchetti, the first woman to serve as Chief of Naval Operations and thus the first female member of the Joint Chiefs. Both were fired, apparently, because they’re woman and, like Brown, were seen by the Administration as “DEI hires.”

As if the Administration itself isn’t filled with (and led by) hires that are based entirely on race and gender! Does anyone honestly think that Pete Hegseth would be Secretary of ANYTHING if he weren’t a straight White guy? Does anyone think that Donald Trump would be anything more than a two-bit grifter if he hadn’t been born White, male, and rich-as-fuck?

When I was in graduate school, my (white male) advisor told me the story of how he came to be hired as a history professor at Stanford. He happened to be in the office of his (white male) advisor when the (white male) chair of the history department at Stanford phoned the aforementioned advisor, who was an old pal from Yale. The history department chairman said, “We have an opening here for an American history professor. Do you have any grad students who are on the verge of finishing their dissertations?”

“Actually, I have one sitting right here, and he’d be perfect.” At that point, my advisor’s advisor turned the conversation over to my future advisor who was “interviewed” and hired on the spot.

They call it an Old Boys Network for a reason, and such advancement has long been available to White men across academia, as well as throughout the business world, the legal and medical professions, politics, and in pretty much every other professional realm imaginable. Was my advisor qualified for the job? Absolutely. Was he more qualified than anyone else — of any race, gender, or group — who might have sought the job at Stanford had it been advertised and thrown open to all properly credentialed applicants? Who knows?

DEI is not intended to give an unfair advantage to underrepresented groups. Rather it is intended as a corrective for a culture, society, and economic system that have been tilted in favor of White men literally for centuries.

And yes, I count myself among those who have benefited from that uneven playing field. Absolutely I do! I was born White, male, upper-middle class. I’m straight. I was given every opportunity to succeed — I grew up in a nice house, in a good school system, raised by parents who fed me well, kept me safe, and took an active role in my education. I was taught from an early age that being smart, and being perceived as smart, are good things. I never faced any social pressure to hide my intelligence in order to be deemed “more attractive,” as so many girls my age were. I never feared the police. I never was called by the “N” word, as my best friend was, in my presence, when we were twelve. When the time came, I was in an economic position that allowed me to attend an Ivy League university. What an advantage all of that was! My privilege set me up for success. I know this. And I deal with it the only way I know how: by being an ally to those who didn’t have my privilege, and by fighting (and voting) for social justice and economic equality at every opportunity. Yes, I’m Woke. You’re damn right I am.

The current Administration is attempting to reverse more than half a century of progress on women’s rights, Civil Rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and antipoverty efforts. Why? Because they see anything that further levels the playing field as being to their personal disadvantage. Many of their supporters feel the same way. They would rather perpetuate a system filled with bias, one that rewards mediocrity by limiting competition from qualified women, qualified people of color, qualified people with disabilities, qualified people who identify as queer. They are terrified by the surety that if forced to compete with a wider group of skilled, talented people, they are likely to lose out. And they’re probably right. But that doesn’t change the fact that they are pursuing an ideological agenda that is immoral, cruel, and bad for our country.

Wishing you a good week.

 “A Palace Near the Wind” by Ai Jiang is richly inventive, brutal and beautiful science-fantasy.…

The post Spotlight on “A Palace Near the Wind” by Ai Jiang appeared first on LitStack.

Please to be ignoring my siblings and give all meats to me.

Hey now!

Whateves.

I too like meat, why was I not invited?

Four brothers, three brains cells. That’s why my expression is always this.

Prologue (Five Years Before Now)

Hans tried, desperately, to hide his resentment as he made his way to the schoolhouse.

It was a rule that all children had to have at least two days in school per week, at least until they came of age, and no one made any exceptions for peasants, apprentices and others who had no realistic hope of earning the grades they needed to join the civil service or become one of the king’s warlocks. Hans had tried his hardest, but he’d never managed to cast so much as a simple spell, let alone master the basics of reading, writing, and a hundred other skills one needed to rise in the world. He’d been lucky his uncle had agreed to take him on as an apprentice – there was always room for a new apprentice at a blacksmith’s forge – and going to school now felt like a sick joke, a waste of time when he could be learning the trade. But the law was the law. The last family that refused to send their children to school had been taken away and no one had ever laid eyes on them again, driving the lesson home.

The schoolhouse was a towering building of red brick, a waste of resources that could have built a dozen private houses, something the village desperately needed. It was easily large enough to house the hundreds of schoolchildren, from eight to sixteen, shambling towards the gates, their movements making it clear they wanted to be somewhere – anywhere – else. He frowned as he saw the handful of horses outside, their caparisons marked with the king’s livery, then hastily lowered his eyes when he saw the young woman standing behind them, her gaze flickering over the children as they walked past her and into the school. It was rare to see a young woman in a position of authority, which meant she was almost certainly a powerful sorceress as well as being of noble blood. Hans felt an odd little prickle as her eyes passed over his body, a faint sense of unease running through him. He half expected to find himself turning into a frog. But instead, he walked into the school and directly to the assembly hall. It was disturbingly quiet.

Hans felt cold, despite the warm air. It was normally rowdy, despite the best efforts of the headmaster and his teachers: friends chattering away loudly, bullies harassing their victims, swots trying desperately to finish their homework before the teachers collected their jotters and discovered they hadn’t actually finished their assigned work. The headmaster himself normally stood on the podium, dressed in robes Hans couldn’t have afforded if he worked every hour of every day for five years, prattling away about honour, glory, and the duty each and every citizen, from the highest to the lowest, owed to King Frederick VIII of Garstang, their lord and supreme master. Now, he was standing at the corner of the room, speaking to a handful of newcomers in the king’s livery. Hans had no idea who they were, but they had to be important. The headmaster normally expected everyone to bow and scrape to him. Now … he was the one doing the bowing and scraping.

Serves him right, Hans thought. It was impossible to respect the headmaster, no matter his rank. The man didn’t work for a living, he merely bossed around others while lording it over those who actually did. Now he knows how it feels to be ground under.

The lines of students normally kept shifting, as toughs pushed the weaker kids to the front while inching towards the rear. Hans was a past master at getting to the rear himself, relying on his greater strength to ensure he wasn’t close enough to be singled out by the headmaster and branded a disgrace before the entire school, but now the lines were barely moving and he found himself right at the front. A chill ran down his spine as the remaining students hurried into the chamber, including a handful of known troublemakers. They too were forced to the front. Hans would have found it amusing, if he hadn’t been so exposed himself. The headmaster always singled out one student for punishment and he was in the danger zone. And neither his father nor his uncle would be likely to listen to him if he insisted he’d been picked at random …

A newcomer, dressed in noble robes, walked onto the stage and stood in front of the gathered students. Hans heard the rear doors shutting with a bang, a grim reminder they were trapped … and that anyone who was late would wind up in very hot water indeed. The nobleman’s eyes surveyed the room, his gaze managing to convey the impression he’d seen more impressive specimens staggering out of the local alehouse every night, making their way home to a furious wife. Or perhaps lying on the sawdust, sleeping it off.

“Young men,” he said. His voice was quiet yet firm, echoing around the chamber in a manner that owed much to magic. No one spoke, not even the handful of troublemakers at the back. “You are here to be tested for a very special kind of magic. If you possess it, you will be honoured beyond the dreams of this” – his voice took on a hint of disdain – “quiet provincial town. If not, you will return to your quiet provincial lives.”

Hans felt a hot flash of irritation. He’d been tested on his magic, they’d all been tested, and he had little. If any. The handful of students who showed real aptitude for magic had been taken away a long time ago, their families paid the king’s coin and told their children would return as adult magicians, if they returned at all. He had no idea why the nobleman was wasting their time – probably because he could – but it was a waste of time. He had never managed a single spell.

He wanted to say it out loud, to ask why they were wasting his time, but he didn’t dare.

The nobleman drew a spellcaster from his belt. Hans felt a sudden lassitude fall over his mind, a sense that he should remain still – his brain switched off – until he was released from the spell. He stumbled a moment later, the spell letting him go. Raw anger boiled through him as he stared at the nobleman, trying to keep the sheer resentment off his face. It was bad enough that noblemen galloped through the cornfields, trampling the crop underfoot, or insisted the merchants overlooked their debts, but to steal his free will … his blood boiled. It took all the willpower he had not to clench his fists. Showing any kind of hostility to a nobleman, however well deserved, was a flogging offense. Or worse.

“Interesting,” the nobleman said. “Come forward.”

Hans tried to keep his feelings out of his voice and failed. “Why …?”

The nobleman snorted. “Look behind you.”

Hans turned … and stared. The other students were just standing there, their faces as blank as their minds. A chill ran down his spine as he stared at Rodolfo, a boy who never shut up, and Martina, a girl so pretty nearly every young man in town was trying to court her. They were both just … still, as if someone had somehow turned them off. He turned back and stared at the nobleman, who was studying him with a cold expression.

It was hard to speak, harder still to speak clearly. “What … what just happened?”

“The enchantment I used has little effect on those with a certain talent,” the nobleman said, as if Hans should already have known it. “You shrugged it off, which means you have the talent.”

He stepped off the podium and walked to the door. “Come.”

Hans stared after him, eyes flickering around the room in horror. Everyone was still. Even the headmaster was standing there, his face as blank as his students. The rest of the noblemen were gone already …

“I …” Hans swallowed and started again. “What’ll happen to them?”

“The spell will wear off,” the nobleman said, dismissively. “They’ll be fine.”

He reached the door and motioned for Hans to follow. Hans forced his legs into motion and staggered after him, feeling as if the world had just turned upside down. A carriage was already waiting outside, the door gaping open. He stopped as he realised he was being taken away, just like the rest of the magically-powerful students …

“Get in,” the nobleman ordered.

“My family,” Hans said, desperately. “And my master … ah, my uncle …”

“They will be informed, and rewarded for raising you,” the nobleman said. “Get in.”

Hans briefly considered running, but it would do him no good. There was no cover, nothing he could use to hide, and even if he did manage to get away the aristocrats could track him down easily. He’d have to hide within the forest and that would end badly. He barely knew how to take care of himself, and if the nobles posted a reward the bandits and outlaws would probably help track him down.

He scrambled into the carriage, trying not to marvel at the sheer luxury of the interior. He’d never ridden in anything like it before. The nobleman joined him, shutting the door and sitting down as the carriage rattled into life. Hans stared out the window as the vehicle picked up speed, the streets slowly giving way to croplands and grazing fields. He’d never been more than a couple of miles from his hometown. Now, he had the feeling he was never going to see his family again.

“Tell me about yourself,” the nobleman said.

Hans felt his temper flare. The words slipped out before he could stop himself. “Why should I tell anything to a man who hasn’t even introduced himself?”

The nobleman’s face twisted, like the headmaster’s when he found himself confronted with a student he didn’t dare punish. Hans took heart from it, even though he knew taunting a nobleman was asking for trouble. If his talent was so rare they were resorting to testing students in their quiet provincial town, as the nobleman had referred to his hometown, it was unlikely they were going to kill him on the spot.

“I am Court Graf,” the nobleman said, finally. “Mage Commander of the Royal Magic Corps.”

Hans kept his face under tight control, hiding his relief as best he could. He’d heard of the Royal Magic Corps, everyone had. They served the king and the king alone … he wondered, numbly, why they’d come for him? He didn’t have a single spell to his name. The sorcerers and mages of the Royal Magic Corps were supposed to be able to turn entire armies into toads with a wave of their hands, but he couldn’t even summon a tiny flame to light the forge or a gust of wind to cool a newly-forged blade.

He leaned forward. “Why me? I can’t cast any spells.”

Graf smiled, rather coldly. “Believe it or not, young man, that is precisely the point.”

“I don’t understand,” Hans said. It felt like a dream – or a nightmare. “Why me?”

“Don’t worry,” Graf assured him. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Chapter One: Adam

Caithness was burning.

I watched, from what I devoutly hoped was a safe distance, as the advancing army ground towards the city. The darkness hid nothing, not from me. It was a force out of the darkest depths of history, a mechanical nightmare that hadn’t been seen since the days of the Thousand Year Empire, a force – I feared – we might not be able to stop. Small tripods – scouting machines – darted forward, moving with a combination of eerie grace and speed that chilled me to the bone, their mounted spellcasters hurling fireballs and lightning bolts at possible threats or whatever else caught their pilot’s eye. Larger tripods and crawling machines followed at a slower pace, their struts tearing up the road from the border to the city; flyers shot overhead, raining down death and destruction on the dour grey stone. Caithness wasn’t a wooden town, thank the Ancients, but it was only a matter of time until she was utterly devastated. The walls and buildings had never been designed to stand up to such a horde.

“Pinch me,” Caroline muttered, from behind me. “It’s a dream.”

I reached out and pinched her arm, hard enough to hurt. Her face twisted in pain, an instant before she pinched me back. The stab of agony failed to wake me from my slumber … I told myself not to be silly, no matter how easy it would have been to pretend it was nothing more than a nightmare. I had wondered, in my school days, how many of the stories of the Thousand Year Empire had been exaggerated over the centuries, how many of the wonders of that age had been made up of whole cloth. I knew, now, that the stories had been – if anything – understatements. The rolling army approaching the city appeared utterly unstoppable. I swallowed, hard, as I saw balls of light arcing into the air, flying over the walls and coming down within the city itself. They vanished out of sight, giant fireballs rising into the air a second later … I felt the ground rumble beneath my feet, the giant thunder crack reaching my ears and racketing onwards. If I felt bad here, I dreaded to think what it must feel like in the city. The population was caught in a nightmare.

“Stay here … no, go to the campsite,” I muttered. The army was nearing the fortress now and we needed to know what happened when the mechanical nightmare encountered fixed defences. “If I don’t come back, get back to Kirkhaven and send a message south.”

Caroline shot me a sharp look. “They’re more likely to underestimate me.”

“The king might listen to you,” I reminded her. “Let me go.”

Caroline scowled, then conceded the point with a nod. Technically, we were in disgrace. We’d failed to seize the flying city and then we’d fumbled our mission to Kirkhaven Hall. I’d done my best to take all the blame, which might just let Caroline convince him of the sheer magnitude of the impending disaster. The fortress would have dispatched a rider south, I was sure, and if the commander was on his toes he’d have ordered a handful of observers to watch from a safe distance, but the early reports might not be believed. Hell, I wasn’t sure if our reports of the incident at Kirkhaven had been believed either.

I turned away, muttering a handful of obscurification spells to hide myself as I slipped through the night. It wasn’t easy to pick my way through the rough landscape surrounding the town, even with the best night vision spells the sorcerous researchers had been able to devise, but I stayed low and kept walking. The night sky was alarmingly clear and I found myself beseeching the Ancients for rain. The enemy had timed their offensive well, I conceded sourly. It never seemed to stop raining at times, along the border, but tonight was as clear as any invader could wish. I hoped that would change, as I hid myself in the shadows and watched a scout machine striding past. It was hard to tell if the pilot missed me or if he simply didn’t care. A lone man, no matter how dangerous, was no threat to his machine.

I took a risk and leaned forward, studying the tripod as it strode into the distance. I’d thought the entire army was composed of Objects of Power, a remarkable and seemingly impossible feat, yet up close I had my doubts. The flying city I’d seen in the Eternal City had been a single machine, and the meksects that tended to its innards were almost animalistic, but the tripod was crude, as if someone had bolted one piece of machinery to another. I sucked in my breath as it moved inwards, recalling just how difficult it was to make such a device without having it decay into rust and ruin almost at once. The plans for forging war machines hadn’t been lost, but the techniques had.

Caitlyn Aguirre managed to figure it out, I reminded myself, but could she churn out so many war machines so quickly?

I didn’t believe it. Forgery wasn’t my strong suit, but even a team of dedicated Zeros would take weeks to forge a single war machine, let alone a whole army of them. There weren’t that many Zeros! The government had tried to test everyone who showed signs of little or no magic, ever since they’d realised what was missing from the ancient documents, but only two had been discovered, at least within the borders of Tintagel. I couldn’t believe Garstang had found so many, not when our neighbours were so backwards. They barely tolerated female mages and their aristocracy made ours look like saints. It was difficult to believe they’d even found one, let alone that they’d been able to convince the poor bastard to work for them. But they’d clearly succeeded …

The thought haunted me as I slipped down to the closest vantage point. Fortress Caithness towered over the North Wall, a giant structure bristling with heavy spellcasters and other weapons of war. It was a strange combination of magical and mundane devices, capable of dominating the roads and blocking any advance from the north; the walls were hardened, protected by wards so powerful they should have been able to shrug off any assault, ensuring the fortress would remain intact even if the city itself fell to force or treachery. The planners had been certain the fortress would survive, deep in the enemy rear, giving the troops inside a chance to harass their supply lines. I’d seen those plans myself and they’d looked solid. But right now, it was clear they’d been based on false assumptions.

I forced myself to watch as the giant tripods opened fire, their spellcasters unleashing wave after wave of raw magic into the fortress. Wards capable of deflecting almost any threat shuddered under the impact, the charmed walls turning black as the enchantments started to waver and break. The fortress returned fire, their spellcasters lashing out at the enemy vehicles; I felt a flicker of relief as one tripod staggered and fell, only to lose even that as the rest started to dance around. They were hard to hit, I realised numbly, and armoured to the point that even a handful of hits weren’t enough to bring them down. The crawling machines stayed to the rear, half-hidden in hollows, and opened fire, their projectiles rising up and falling on top of the fortress. The noise was unbearable. Even from my distance, I could feel the air prickling with raw discordant magic. It was too much.

Aim for their legs, I thought, as more magic tore through the air. Try and take them out …

A low rumbling battered my ears as the fortress started to crumble, its wards shattering one by one. The charmed walls fell quickly, waves of magical balefire seething through the spellcaster ports and wiping out their crews … normally, balefire was easy to counter if you knew the right spells, but the defenders had too many other things to worry about. Something exploded, blowing out a chunk of the wall and opening a gash in the remaining defences. I cursed as I saw the soldiers advancing from behind the war machines, hurling themselves into the remnants of the fortress. Others were heading into the city itself. I kicked myself for not having seen them earlier. They’d been hidden within the shadows, my eyes drawn to the light.

The defending fire died away. I cursed. The kingdom hadn’t lost a major fortress for hundreds of years. Now … I hoped the defenders had the sense to abandon their posts, flee into the city, and change their military tunics into something a little more civilian. Garstang was bound by treaty to deal honourably with prisoners, but the sheer force they’d unleashed against Caithness showed a frightening lack of concern for civilian casualties. Even if they hadn’t been deliberately targeting civilians, I couldn’t imagine they hadn’t killed hundreds … perhaps thousands. The recent events at Kirkhaven had sent thousands of refugees fleeing in all directions and some had gone to Caithness, only to discover they’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire. I hoped they’d have the chance to get out before the city was sealed off for good.

I watched for a few moments longer, then turned and hurried away, circumventing the city as I made my way back to the vantage point. Hundreds of people were fleeing, some heading down the king’s road to Templeton. I shuddered at the thought of the coming nightmare, when the enemy force made it down to the city. Templeton was heavily defended, if only because it was the key to roads leading to Shallot and Tintagel City. If the enemy took control, they’d be able to cut off the entire set of northern provinces from the kingdom … or keep advancing, aiming to crush Shallot before we could produce war machines of our own. I cursed again as I saw the refuges, most dressed in nightclothes with a handful of cloaks thrown over their garb. They didn’t look remotely ready for the rain and the cold. Some might find shelter, in nearby towns and hamlets, but others would walk into the bog and drown before they realised they’d killed themselves. There was nothing I could do to help them, not now. I knew my duty.

Damn you, I thought. Caithness had fallen, but the fires were still burning brightly. How many people have you killed?

Something flickered, in the darkness. A faint sheet of light … a ghostly form, barely humanoid. Ice crawled down my spine. I’d hoped the ghosts that had plagued Kirkhaven were gone, their unquiet voices stilled by the release of the soul trapped within the bog, but they were still there … harmless now, we thought, but some of the ghosts we’d seen earlier had been very dangerous indeed. I gave the ghost a wide berth, keeping my eyes on it. The lack of any eyes looking back at me was oddly disconcerting. I made a mental note to add the ghost’s presence to the report, although I had no idea what my superiors would make of it. They had a full-scale invasion to worry about.

The darkness seemed to fall again as I kept walking, picking my way down the rough stony path. Caithness had fallen behind the hills, but a grim orange-red glow lit up the air. The dour city woke with the dawn and went to sleep with the dusk, unlike many others, and there were no streetlights to assist drinkers making their way home or make life difficult for footpads. Now … the city was burning. I shuddered helplessly.

Caroline relaxed, slightly, as she saw me. I filled her in as we packed up and headed to Kirkhaven Hall, wondering if we should split up. There was strength in numbers and it was rare for King’s Men to be sent out on missions alone, without at least some back-up, but there was no way we could stand up to even one tripod. Not until we figured out how to beat them … my heart sank as I recalled just how few primitive nations had managed to slow the Empire’s invaders down for more than a few hours. The Empire had talked about a mission to civilise the natives, and to its credit it had brought the benefits of modern magic, but their invasion would have been utterly world-ending for the locals even if it did work out in the long run. It was hard to imagine the local leadership wouldn’t have been rounded up and slaughtered, the local magicians invited to add their blood to the Empire’s great families, the local merchants shoved aside … Garstang wouldn’t be even that civilised. They’d wanted a gateway to the sea for centuries and if they took ours …

“The fortress will have sent messengers south,” Caroline muttered. “Right?”

I nodded, although I had no way to be sure. The enemy could have sneaked horsemen into the empty lands behind Caithness, with orders to kill any messengers and dispel vapour spells. It was hard to keep word from spreading, but it wouldn’t cost the enemy very much and the rewards would be more than worth it. The longer the gap between the invasion and the king hearing about it, the longer it would be before reinforcements started heading north. Worse, perhaps. The reinforcements would have no idea what they’d be facing, when the invaders regrouped and continued their march south. Templeton might fall as easily as Caithness.

The skies darkened. I breathed a sigh of relief as the rain started to fall, hoping and praying it would quench the fires as well as slow enemy movements. The tripods were massive, but I could imagine their pilots steering them into a bog and discovering – too late – that they’d doomed themselves. If there was any bottom to the bogs, it had never been discovered. The thought of a tripod slowly sinking made me smile, although I feared it wouldn’t happen. The enemy had had years to plan the invasion. It was likely they’d had more than enough time to get their hands on local maps.

I cursed as the rain kept falling, the water drenching our clothes and leaving us looking and feeling like drowned rats. Kirkhaven Town was still half-buried in the mud and sinking fast … I was so tired it took me far too long to realise that the landslide had damned the river, leaving the water lapping at the homes and shops that had once made up a small and yet thriving community. We turned west and made our way up to Kirkhaven Hall. The Mistress of Kirkhaven – Isabella Rubén – might be able to help us. If she was there …

“She’s gone to the city to get help and attend her brother’s wedding,” Sandy told us. She looked like a drowned rat herself, running around trying to attend to the hundreds of refugees who’d been crammed into Kirkhaven Hall. “What’s the hurry?”

I told her. Kirkhaven was off the beaten path, the combination of mountains and sound-quenching bogs ensuring no one would hear the invasion as it swept over Caithness and headed south. It took hours to drive from the village to the city normally – now, the ancients alone knew – and most of the villages preferred to pretend the world outside their borders simply didn’t exist. I had seen it before, over the last couple of years, but it was still difficult to believe. It really shouldn’t have surprised me. I’d grown up in Shallot, gateway to the kingdom – and the world. My childhood had been filled with tales of bold explorers who had sailed the seven seas, learning about the world in the wake of the Empire’s fall; I’d known, from birth, that there was something bigger out there, a chance to become someone powerful and significant. The villagers didn’t have that, not in any real sense. There was no point of dreaming of foreign lands when they would never get to travel, let alone see the world.

But now the world has come calling, I thought, numbly. It’s only a matter of time before the invaders find Kirkhaven.

I shoved the thought aside. “Callam went with her?”

“Yes,” Sandy said. A confusing flicker of emotions darted across her face, gone before I could quite pin them down. Sandy had been Isabella’s dorm monitor, a post that would have been difficult even if Isabella hadn’t managed to compromise herself so thoroughly, and then she’d been Callam’s teacher. I felt a stab of sympathy. I’d been a dorm monitor myself and it wasn’t easy to keep some of the aristo brats in line. “They were planning to be back shortly, but …”

“If they do come back, tell them to return to Shallot at once,” I ordered. Isabella was just another sorceress, but Callam was a Zero. He could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands. “And we need to borrow your horses.”

Thunder rumbled, in the distance. I hoped it was thunder.

Sandy scowled. “And what should we do, if Garstang attacks the estate?”

I swallowed. It should have been unlikely. Kirkhaven was just another tiny village, so small that calling it a village was an exaggeration. But Isabella had turned the estate into a productive enterprise and Callam, of course, was worth far more than his weight in gold. We might have lucked out, I reflected sourly, that she’d had to go south for the wedding. The enemy had excellent reason to attack Kirkhaven as soon as possible. They’d find it tricky to send more than a small force, but the estate was practically defenceless.

“Keep your heads down, try to avoid attracting attention,” I ordered, finally. It was unlikely the villagers would be harmed. Garstang would need them to feed and supply its forces. “The king will send his army north soon enough.”

But I hoped, as we prepared to ride south, that I was wrong. The world had changed. The invasion was proof nothing would ever be the same …

And if the army wasn’t ready for what it faced, it would be the end.

Jason Waltz kicked off season two of his 24? in 42 podcast interviews with your very own Monday morning columnist. The prior installment was with Malazan’s Ian C. Esslemont, so I’m in pretty good company here.

It should not surprise you that I was all over the place, covering Robert E. Howard, Michael Moorcock, Columbo, books on writing and screenwriting, Encyclopedia Brown, the Civil War, Tolkien, The Constitutional Convention of 1787, Lawrence Block, Steven Hockensmith, Norbert Davis, and much more.

Jason sends sixteen questions ahead of time, and mixes in eight ‘new’ ones that can be definite curveballs. He started things off with a knuckleball! (Last week’s post was on baseball- I’m still in the mood)

Here are two sample questions:

Who is the visual artist(s) that creates the artwork that most moves you?

Michael Whelan and Walter Velez (those terrific early Thieves World cover novels) are two of my favorite fantasy artists. Being a mystery guy, I LOVE some color paintings that Robert Fawcett did. Arthur Conan Doyle’s son Adrian (who waas a freeloading ass), co-wrote some Holmes stories. They’re not bad. All but the first appeared in Colliers’ illustrated by Fawcett. They are wonderful illustrations. Up there with the two great Holmes artists: Frederic Dorr Steele, and Sidney Paget. I find they capture Holmes.

How do you give depth to a character? Do you treat primary, secondary, and tertiary characters any differently?

I consciously try to catch myself using a secondary or tertiary character as an info dump. Even a small one (and I absolutely do that). If the only reason I find them around is to give some info, I rework them. Or, try to use someone already in the story. There’s no depth to an info dump character.

The depth of a half dozen characters in the first Max Latin story (Watch Me Kill You) is about as well done as any story I’ve read. I try to give some personality, without making it a cliché.

 

Jason and I had a lot of fun, and you can actually see the enthusiasm that I bring to my blogging here at Black Gate. Settle in and watch (or at least listen) to me wax/ramble on. The 42 (from Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker’s Guide) is the time target. Since I went over by about 35 minutes, I expanded on things a bit…

(42 is also Jackie Robinson’s number, and I talked about him for one question).

 

And for the record, since Jason called me out on camera: Ohio State defeated Texas in the CFP that night. In quite dramatic fashion, no less.

Click on over. I’m told I was a bit animated!

Bob Byrne’s ‘A (Black) Gat in the Hand’ made its Black Gate debut in 2018 and has returned every summer since.

His ‘The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes’ column ran every Monday morning at Black Gate from March, 2014 through March, 2017. And he irregularly posts on Rex Stout’s gargantuan detective in ‘Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone.’ He is a member of the Praed Street Irregulars, founded www.SolarPons.com (the only website dedicated to the ‘Sherlock Holmes of Praed Street’).

He organized Black Gate’s award-nominated ‘Discovering Robert E. Howard’ series, as well as the award-winning ‘Hither Came Conan’ series. Which is now part of THE Definitive guide to Conan. He also organized 2023’s ‘Talking Tolkien.’

He has contributed stories to The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories — Parts III, IV, V, VI, XXI, and XXXIII.

He has written introductions for Steeger Books, and appeared in several magazines, including Black Mask, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, The Strand Magazine, and Sherlock Magazine.

 

 

 

I received a review copy from the publisher. This does not affect the contents of my review and all opinions are my own.

The Gate of the Feral Gods by Matt Dinniman

Mogsy’s Rating: 5 of 5 stars

Genre: Fantasy, Science Fiction

Series: Book 4 of Dungeon Crawler Carl

Publisher: Ace (March 11, 2025)

Length: 608 pages

Author Information: Website

There’s LitRPG, and then there’s Dungeon Crawler Carl. In fact, Matt Dinniman may have forever ruined this genre for me, as I don’t think I’ll ever find a series as fun and amazing. The Gate of the Feral Gods is the fourth installment, but there’s no slowing down here. Instead, we’re charging full steam ahead, plunging deeper into the chaos!

The story picks right up from where things left off in The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook, joining Carl and his larger-than-life feline companion, Princess Donut, as they descend deeper into the dungeon in their continued fight for survival. Now on the fifth floor, the rules shift dramatically, presenting an entirely new set of challenges. This level introduces a unique twist: all crawlers are separated into individual biome-themed “bubbles” which are scattered across four quadrants of the game world. Unfortunately for Carl and Donut, this means being cut off from their friends, and to make matters worse, they won’t be able to access the next floor until all the objectives in their bubble are met. As this is not something they can do on their own, success hinges upon finding new allies—and fast.

By now, we’re starting to see a pattern emerge, with each level introducing a distinct gaming mechanic. In many ways, the fifth floor mirrors an epic game of Capture the Flag, in which crawlers are randomly assigned to the different bubbles, such as air, water, land, and deep ocean. Each biome also features their own set of dangers, mobs, and goals. The only way to break free is to destroy the castles in their respective bubbles, which would then allow crawlers to assist others in doing the same. But of course, Carl, Donut, and their new party member Katia have landed in one of the toughest bubbles, where the challenges are more difficult and the odds against them are stacked higher than ever. Still, as we all know, it will take much more than that to break their spirit.

The Gate of the Feral Gods was yet another fantastic sequel, and I just love cracking open each book to discover what awesome adventure awaits us next. What makes these books so addictive and so entertaining is the way each volume builds upon the ones that came before, driving up the excitement while still maintaining the humor, heart, and thrilling action. These books are laugh-out-loud funny, and I’m always surprised at Carl’s ingenious solutions to seemingly impossible situations. I’m also floored by the sheer creativity in everything from small-scale puzzles in the dungeon to the overarching intrigue of who or what in the great wide universe is actually in control of the crawl.

It’s honestly impressive how Dinniman can manage to juggle so many moving pieces of the storyline all at once. You’ve got multiple character arcs unfolding simultaneously, all their interconnected plotlines, a dungeon and its AI that are constantly shifting in new and unexpected ways, various RPG mechanics that are expanding as the characters get stronger, plus an intergalactic political drama playing out in the background to boot! Whew! With so much happening at once, one thing for sure is that you’ll never be bored, and what’s more, each storyline is given the time and attention it deserves. True, sometimes things can feel a little overwhelming, but so far, the author seems quite diligent in resolving story threads so that readers aren’t left hanging.

But truly, what sets Dungeon Crawler Carl apart is its character development. Yes, we get new quest lines, new boss fights, and plenty of the crazy-ass dungeon-crawling mayhem that can only come from the mind of Matt Dinniman, but we also get to see Carl and Donut’s relationships evolve—both with each other and with the ever-expanding cast of allies and adversaries. In some ways, this series has the feel of a favorite soap opera, where I just can’t wait to dive back in to catch up with all the characters.

That said, things get pretty bleak for some of them. It’s a sad fact that none of the side characters are truly safe, and even Carl and Donut get put through the wringer, as they adapt to increasingly cruel and brutal challenges. Our protagonist has repeatedly sworn that the dungeon will not break him, but with each new level, the physical and psychological toll on him only seems to get worse. Still, whenever circumstances start to look dire, there’s always much needed levity to pull us out—often thanks to Donut and her impeccable talent for saying the most absurd things at the most inopportune times.

When all is said and done, I think The Gate of the Feral Gods might be my favorite book of the series so far, delivering on every front and exceeding expectations in every way. This book has everything readers love about Dungeon Crawler Carl—pulse-pounding action, gut-busting humor, and surprisingly deep emotional moments—all wrapped up in an explosive plot that’s impossible to put down. It’s a must read for fans, obviously. And if you haven’t started this series yet, don’t wait! With the re-issuing of all the books, there’s no better time to jump in.

More on The BiblioSanctum:
Review of Dungeon Crawler Carl (Book 1)
Review of Carl’s Doomsday Scenario (Book 2)
Review of The Dungeon Anarchist’s Cookbook (Book 3)

Conan the Barbarian: Battle of The Black Stone (Titan Comics collected edition, April 1, 2025). Cover by Jonas Scharf

Few things are more ubiquitous than Conan and fantasy. Decades of sword-swinging high adventure has earned the barbarian a following most can only dream of. It’s taken the heavily thewed warrior to the big screen, Marvel Comics, and more. But it’s his latest adventure at Titan Comics that may prove to be the icing on the proverbial Shadizarian cake.

“This isn’t my first time writing Conan, but it’s definitely the most expansive opportunity I’ve ever had to chart the direction of such an amazing iconic character. I could not be happier in terms of our team and the collaboration we have in terms of story, art, and worldbuilding,” Jim Zub, writer of Conan the Barbarian at Titan Comics, shared by email.

[Click the images for Conan-sized versions.]

Over the years, few have come to understand the Cimmerian like the acclaimed Canadian scribe. Even in a career that has taken him to the heights of the comic book industry, Zub’s Conan work is special. His bibliography reads like a tour of the barbarian’s finest adventures of the past 10 years: Marvel’s Conan the Barbarian, The Savage Sword of Conan, and the epic Battle of the Black Stone are a few highlights. No wonder he’s so trusted by the rights holders of Robert E. Howard’s work.

“I actually work directly for Heroic Signatures, the rights holders of Conan and the Robert E. Howard character library. Titan publishes the comics in English, and they’ve been great publishing partners, but on a creative level I answer directly to the people who know Conan best and that has made the creative process really vibrant,” Zub stated.

Conan and Deadpool in Savage Avengers #18, by Gerry Duggan and Kev Walker (Marvel Comics, February 17, 2021). Cover by Valerio Giangiordano

It wouldn’t be exactly fair to call Conan’s return to Titan a comeback. At Marvel, the Cimmerian had an impressive run in the much-loved Savage Avengers. Solo, he would be well-treated by Zub and his colleagues in stories like Conan: Serpent War and even fight symbiotes during the massive King in Black storyline. A look at the enthusiasm that has greeted Titan’s Conan series, however, tells you that this is something different.

Zub added, “Every time I get to contribute to characters and worlds I grew up with it’s a thrill, and this Conan publishing initiative is a whole new level.”

Such big breaks come with a heavy responsibility. After Howard created the character in the 1930s, many other writers would pen new tales for the Cimmerian. That lengthy list of scribes includes respected names like L. Sprague de Camp, Karl Edward Wagner, Roy Thomas, and Jason Aaron. How has he managed to stand out while writing a legacy character that has passed through so many legendary hands? Surprisingly, it’s by following the legends as closely as he can.

Conan: Serpent War #1, written by Jim Zub (Marvel Comics, December 4, 2019). Incentive variant cover E by David Finch

“If anything, I’m trying to hew as closely to Robert E. Howard’s original pulp characteristics as I can, while also incorporating the most iconic aspects of Roy Thomas’ seminal comic writing alongside the vision so many incredible artists like Frank Frazetta, Barry Windsor-Smith, John Buscema, Joe Jusko, Cary Nord and others have brought into it over the decades,” Zub explained.

Following in those footsteps brings with it plenty of challenges and opportunities. There aren’t many writers that understand that as well as Zub.

“The longer a character has been around, obviously, the more stories have been told and the harder it can be to surprise the existing fanbase while still staying true to who that character is.  It’s a delicate balance where you want to keep core elements in mind but not close yourself off to new ideas,” Zub said. “The upside, of course, is the fact that legacy characters have that built-in recognition. I’m not building from scratch in terms of visibility and there’s an existing fanbase excited to see what comes next. The challenges and benefits are tightly wound together.”

You only need to read the massive Conan: Battle of the Black Stone limited series to see that approach in practice.

Conan the Barbarian #9, written by Jim Zub; art by Robert De La Torre and Dean White (Titan Comics, March 27, 2024) A Walk With Titan

If one word could describe what it is like to read Titan Comics Conan the Barbarian, that word would be ‘fun.’ Not that it shortchanges readers on the artistic or deeper side of things. Far from it. The colors pop like a 70s comic, there’s no shortage of poetic allusions, well-crafted narrations, and action. But above all its bursting with creative energy, like a room of Conan’s most talented fans were allowed to cut loose.

“The new Titan series is a Mature Readers book, so we don’t have to hold back on violence or salacious elements where appropriate. That allows us to channel the intensity of the pulp source material even more closely,” is how Zub describes it.

Fans of high-fantasy and the barbarian’s sword-swinging antics will not be disappointed. Conan is at his most lethal in many of these stories, battling Picts and challenging sorcerers with his usual bravado. The ingredients of great sword and sorcery tales are all there: magic, romance, and plenty of mayhem.

Conan the Barbarian #18, written by Jim Zub; art by Danica Brine and Joao Canola (Titan Comics, February 19, 2025). Cover B by De La Torre

“It’s about distilling the best parts of past works and bringing them together with Howard’s own expansive mythmaking across the ages to tell epic stories of sword & sorcery. If I do my job well, it should feel “true” to old and new readers without falling back on adapting previous stories,” Zub said.

True to their epic vision, the creative team behind the series has not stopped at just celebrating the Hyborian Age. While the comics are full of respectful nods to the past, they also give Conan plenty of new obstacles to overcome. Other Howard characters are brought in and before you know it, a sprawling multi-timeline adventure is unfolding. Working on Conan, in general, has helped Zub level-up as a writer and his Titan Comics storylines feel like years of hard-work distilled for our reading pleasure.

“With each new storyline I’m pushing myself to use familiar pieces in unorthodox ways so that readers can see enough of the familiar to know that it’s still Conan, but knot know exactly which way the story is headed,” Zub said.

His evocative narrations have become integral to the experience. They set the tone, heighten the drama when necessary, and add some appreciated literary flair. It is no accident either that they read so quintessentially Conan.

Classic barbarian art by Frank Frazetta: the cover to Thongor Against the Gods by Lin Carter (Paperback Library, November 1967)

“I’ve marinated in the original Howard prose and analyzed it for cadence and vocabulary to make my narration feel like the classics without just copying it word-for-word. It’s made me think deeper about pacing, prose, characterization, geography, and culture,” Zub said.

The Battle for the Black Stone storyline has been a wild ride to say the least. While it’s impossible say where Conan is heading next, Zub’s work has left creatives of every level with plenty to learn from.

“There’s a reason why characters like Conan have stood the test of time and it’s crucial for people working on the property to understand and respect that bedrock foundation even while they bring their new ideas into the mix. Longtime fans can always tell if someone has done the research and cares about what they’re working on and, if you can win them over, it’s easier to build a strong audience from there,” Zub stated.

Ismail D. Soldan is an author, journalist, and poet. His work has previously appeared in Illustrated Worlds, LatineLit, and The Acentos Review among other publications. A proud explorer of both real and imagined worlds, his most recently published short story can be read in the January 2025 issue of Crimson Quill Quarterly, and his last article for Black Gate was An Eternal Champion’s Legacy.

The Leaning Pile of Books is a feature in which I highlight books I got over the last week that sound interesting—old or new, bought or received in the mail for review consideration. Since I hope you will find new books you’re interested in reading in these posts, I try to be as informative as possible. If I can find them, links to excerpts, author’s websites, and places where you can find more information on the book are included, along […]

The post The Leaning Pile of Books first appeared on Fantasy Cafe.

Here’s something really fun…at least for me. I’ve been doing a lot of teaching lately, working with student manuscripts. And it doesn’t seem to matter how experienced the writers are, some of them are having trouble putting in all five senses. In particular, the senses of smell and taste.

I have a quick and easy solution to that, as I explain in the video below.

I have a lot of quick solutions to long-term craft problems that writers struggle with. I’m doing to do an entire series of these workshops. Here’s a bit more on the series itself.

I hope you’ll join me with this workshop. You can sign up for the first one right here.

I have a few updates for you all on various matters. First, I didn’t post a DOGE Supernatural story this last Friday because I was pushing to finish revisions on Galadon. I had to give that all my spare time and attention. There will be another episode later this week, though. In relation to that, […]

So many of you backed our latest Kickstarter, which was for my first three fantasy novels. We did a full rebrand, and are introducing the books to a new audience. Your help with the Kickstarter made that easy.

Thank you!!!!

Now you can return to your regularly scheduled Saturday evening…

Master of the World (Falco Film, 1983)

As usual, 20 films, all free to stream, and I’ve never seen them before. Can I really find 20 cave person films I can sit through?

EDIT: No. I’ve expanded the list to include any and all primitive cultures as there are not enough prehistoric flicks to watch.

EDIT: I’m capping this list at 10 – I can’t stomach any more f**king Italian cannibal flicks.

Master of the World (1983) Tubi

Against my better judgement, I’m starting a new list. The usual rules apply — 20 films, free to stream, based on a theme. This time, cave folk!

We kick off with this Italian offering from the early 80’s, obviously inspired by Quest for Fire and, um, possibly Caveman. It’s the old story of forbidden love, rival clans beating each other up and eating the brains of the vanquished, plus the invention of the bolas. It’s the Romeo and Juliet adaptation you never knew you needed.

The whole shebang is peppered with grainy stock footage of out-of-place animals and clouds, and there’s a man in a bear suit intercut with a real, heavily drugged bear, who beats the crap out of everyone. Actually, this semi-fake bear was a highlight.

As any nerd worth their salt will tell you, Ben Burtt used the sounds of a bear to create Chewbacca’s guttural growls. I swear to God, the filmmakers just took soundbites of Chewbacca from Star Wars and dubbed their own bear with them. Check it out — validate me!

Ultimately, a rather tedious affair, too much high-pitched grunting. I’m only one film in, and already regretting this.

3/10

Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death (Paramount Home Video, 1989) Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death (1989) Tubi

Confession: I could only find about a half dozen prehistoric cave people flicks (that I hadn’t seen or are free to stream), so I have expanded the parameters to include any ‘primitive’ cultures or groups. This opens up the doors for a wider selection, and a lot more rubbish. Case in point…

I thought I had seen this, but I was probably confusing it with Amazon Women on the Moon — anyhoo, this is a weird little affair, very cheaply made, and a bit of a mess. I’ve seen it described as a comedy horror, but there’s no horror in it, and very little in the way of good comedy. The script, written by director J.F. Lawton (who wrote Pretty Woman and Under Siege!) is really not as funny as he thinks it is, flip-flopping between absurdist schtick in the Airplane vein, to satirical monologues — all of which outstay their welcome very quickly.

Shannon Tweed is perfectly fine as the lead, but Adrienne Barbeau is wasted, and the least said about Bill Maher the better (although he does nail a couple of pratfalls). The film claims to be a commentary on feminism and toxic masculinity, but neither theme is realised due the reliance on tired tropes (the male gaze, the white male savior). Oh well.

4/10

The Slime People (Donald J. Hansen Enterprises, 1963) The Slime People (1963) Prime

A primitive prehistoric race rises from the sewers to reclaim the planet after some misguided nuclear testing? Yes, this fits the criteria.

Is it any good though? Weeeellll…

It starts off pretty well. A lone pilot flies into a California airport, only to find the entire town deserted. It’s well set up, and would be even more effective if the film hadn’t shown us the titular monsters as soon as the film starts, before the credits. The monsters themselves are quite interesting, however it looks like they blew the budget on three full-size costumes; think Dr. Who‘s Zygons wearing gorilla pants.

The rest of the ensemble is made up of the usual suspects: lantern-jawed Clark Gable-lite, useless scientist, useless scientist’s useless daughters, useless marine (only there to say ‘gee whiz’ and kiss a useless daughter) and a nutcase who has ‘uncomfortable feelings’ for his goat. You read that right.

The whole affair is shrouded in fog (a major plot point) as mostly consists of lots of talking and running through the afore-mentioned fog. It’s a bit rubbish, but strangely compelling.

5/10

Jungle Holocaust (Erre Cinematografica, 1977) Jungle Holocaust (1977) Tubi

Of all the horror sub-genres, jungle cannibal ones are my least favourite. There’s simply no joy to be found in any of them, and combine them with the Italian predilection for animal cruelty, and you’ve got a film I never need to see twice. This one is the first foray into the genre by the much lauded Ruggero Deodato, and it’s not as ghastly as his later offerings, but still enough to leave me questioning my life choices. I can deal with the human-on-human buffets, but the suffering of real animals turns my stomach.

Anyhoo — it’s the usual plot; white Italians enter the jungle, get eaten. Along the way there is stock footage of animals eating each other, ants in wounds, copious willy tugging (some bad, some good) and lots of ‘oo, oo, oo’ ‘aah, aah, aah’.

The leads are pretty good, Massimo Foschi really sells the whole jungle madness look, and Me Me Lai is great as the loveliest cannibal of them all. However, at the end of the day I don’t mean to be judgemental, but I have no idea how anyone can watch these for a good time.

6/10

Atragon (Toho, December 22, 1963) Atragon (1963) Prime

A tenuous fit for this project, Atragon features an ancient civilization (the Empire of Mu) hellbent on reclaiming their position as rulers of the world. For now, their continent lays at the bottom of the Pacific, so the film is all about Japan’s experimental submarine program, patriotism, and nefarious agents.

The entire world rallies via stock footage as the Mu Nemo themselves around the globe, sinking ships and being a general nuisance. Lots of lovely matte paintings and Thunderbirds-style models, and a bonus sea monster at the end. I had fun.

6/10

Teenage Caveman (American International Pictures, July 1, 1958) Teenage Caveman (1958) Prime (AMC+)

Yes, I started a free 30-day trial sub to AMC+ just so that I could watch this movie without the MST3K voice track. Such is my commitment to this pointless exercise in procrastination.

Anyhoo — here we have Roger Corman writing and banging out a caveman film in a couple of weeks. All shot on one California location, amply sprinkled with footage from other AIP flicks, featuring a very young Robert Vaughn as a young ‘cave person’ in the midst of an existential crisis. The clan he belongs to is the cleanest, whitest bunch of knuckle-draggers you’ve ever seen, and their hair is perfect. They all adhere to a bunch of rules attributed to Sky Gods and Monsters (TM), but Bobby Vaughn ain’t down with no rules, daddio.

He rebels, as all teens should, and while the elders sit around at camp discussing the rules, he goes out to see what’s so dangerous about the other side of the river. Here’s the thing, despite it being cheesy as hell, and somewhat laughable, Vaughn plays it straight (the right choice) and Corman clubs us around the head with a killer twist. I rather enjoyed it. Second film to feature a dude in a bear costume too, so it gains back the mark I was about to take away for the cruel real animal fighting.

6/10

Iceman (Echo Film/Lucky Bird Pictures, 2017) Iceman (2017) Tubi

Based on a 5300-yr-old mummy found by hikers in 1991, this German production proceeds to tell the imagined last days of a Neanderthal man, Kaleb. It’s a simple revenge flick, told in the ancient Rhaetic language, and is beautifully shot through with a suitably grim palette.

Jürgen Vogel as Kaleb is brilliant, bringing physical and emotional heft to every scene, and it was a treat to see Franco Nero pop up. It’s solid, at times horrific, and a reminder that revenge is a dish best served hunted, skinned and roasted.

8/10

Stone Age Sirens (Retromedia Entertainment, November 16, 2004) Stone Age Sirens (2004) Tubi

Another Fred Olen Ray flick (credited as Nicholas Medina, his soft-core pseudonym), this one is a heavily edited version of the film Teenage Cave Girl, heavily edited to the point where there’s no actual Neanderthal nookie on display at all. By cutting out all the sex scenes, what you are left with is a rubbish comedy about a pair of cave dwellers who are transported to the future and fall in with some randy archeologists (there’s more than you knew).

Peppered with stop-mo shots stolen from Planet of the Dinosaurs and some abominable CG in all its 8-bit glory, this is the usual slice of fried shite I’ve come to expect from the once great Ray. It gets a point for only being 46 minutes long.

1/10

Primitives (Rapi Films, 1978) and Eaten Alive! (Dana Film, March 20, 1980)

Primitives (1978) Tubi

This one is an Indonesian version of the Italian jungle exploitation flicks, and doesn’t just follow a similar plot, but lifts whole sequences directly for previous fare such as Cannibal Holocaust. In fact, it’s pretty shameless how much is ripped off from that movie, right down to locations and set pieces (although it stops short of actual tallywhacker removal). It’s full of the usual grunting and chomping, and the filmmakers seemed to double-down on the animal cruelty, using horrific footage from previous films.

It’s a miserable viewing experience, and I’m only giving it an extra mark for the shameless stealing of inappropriate music (Kraftwerk’s ‘The Robots, a trio of Jean Michel Jarre tracks and Princess Leia’s theme) and a hilarious rubber axe boomerang scene.

4/10

Eaten Alive! (1980) Tubi

Not to be confused with the Tobe Hooper ‘gator romp, this is another Italian cannibal flick that starts interestingly in New York, but then descends into the usual animal torture and misogyny associated with these films.

It’s held together by a flimsy ‘Jonestown’ plot, but this was the one that officially finished me off — I am totally done with this genre and never need to see another jungle cannibal film ever again. Hateful.

1/10

Previous Murkey Movie surveys from Neil Baker include:

There, Wolves
What a Croc
Prehistrionics
Jumping the Shark
Alien Overlords
Biggus Footus
I Like Big Bugs and I Cannot Lie
The Weird, Weird West
Warrior Women Watch-a-thon

Neil Baker’s last article for us was There, Wolves: Part III. Neil spends his days watching dodgy movies, most of them terrible, in the hope that you might be inspired to watch them too. He is often asked why he doesn’t watch ‘proper’ films, and he honestly doesn’t have a good answer. He is an author, illustrator, outdoor educator and owner of April Moon Books (AprilMoonBooks.com).

In a society ruled by digital displays, it’s simple to overlook the pure pleasure and…

The post 6 Books Begging To Be Held & The Advantages of Reading Them appeared first on LitStack.

Arkady Martine first came to prominence with her Teixcalaan duology of SF novels, published between 2019 and 2021. Both books – A Memory Called Empire (2019) and A Desolation Called Peace (2021) were nominated for the Hugo Award for Best Novel. Since then, relatively little has appeared, which has led to both a high expectation…

I am guessing that if Stephen could get hooked up with the right people, he could make a bunch of crappy sigils for the entire purpose of selling them to be recycled.

Czech rights to Robert McCammon’s Swan Song and Boy’s Life have been acquired by Czech Republic publisher OneHotBooks.

Ukrainian publisher Zhorzh has acquired the Uktrainian rights to Robert McCammon’s Mister Slaughter, The Providence Rider, and The Listener. Zhorzh previously acquired the rights to Boy’s Life, Swan Song, Speaks the Nightbird, and The Queen of Bedlam. Their translation of Boy’s Life will be released in May.

Zhorzh on Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/ZhorzhClub
Zhorzh on Instagram – https://www.instagram.com/zhorzhclub/

 

Elara bent over the map, spread over the table. The herb patch… The berry bushes… The maples on the north side…

A presence tugged on her. She raised her head. Hugh stood in the doorway.

Alive. Uninjured.

 She let out a mental breath and straightened. “You’re back.”

“I am.” His voice held no bravado.  He sounded, not subdued exactly, but quietly resigned. She braced herself.

“Casualties?” she asked.

“None on our side. Something smells amazing.”

“I made chicken for dinner.”

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Is it for me?”

“Yes.  You did come back safely.”

“Can it wait?” he asked. “I need your help.”

“Of course.”  What was going on with him?

He invited her out with a sweep of his hand. She left the room, and they went down the hallway side by side.  The Keep was quiet. Soft afternoon light spilled through the windows, drawing long rectangles on the hallway floor.

“What happened in Aberdine?” she asked.

“Falcon blocked our approach.  We had some words and then Bale decorated the road with Falcon’s brains. The rest of the mercs cleared off.”

He still sounded off.

“Is this going to come back to bite us?” she asked.

“Possibly.  The second half of the company is enroute to Aberdine. The woman who is leading it could prove difficult.  It depends on whether she decides to make an issue out of Falcon’s death or if she assumes command and takes what’s left of them somewhere else. If I were her, I’d count my blessings, but some people lack common sense.”

They reached the staircase and started down the steps.

“And if she decides to attack?”

“I’ll crush her.”

There was no force in his voice.  He said it so matter of fact, as if he were talking about taking out the trash.

“Hugh?”

“Yes?”

“What’s wrong?”

He looked straight ahead.

“About ten years ago we came across a corpse town in the Laurentian Uplands in Ontario. Men, women, kids, all dead, rotting in the street.”  

His tone was flat and weary.

“We found one survivor. A skinny kid about fifteen or so. Someone nailed him to a tree.”

Nailed?

“He should’ve died but he was too stubborn to let go. We took him with us.”

“What happened to town?”

“He never told us. He barely talked. Once we fed him enough for his legs to support his weight, I asked him what he wanted to do. He said he wanted to get stronger.”

Hugh sighed. “Some people are born swordsmen. It’s not something you can teach or train. The kid picked up the sword, and he was gone. He’d wake up in the morning and train until he passed out in the evening with a sword in his bed. Bale’s berserkers had adopted him. They all used to watch out for him, because he forgot to eat. He wasn’t the strongest or the most skilled, but he was fast, and he had the killer instinct. When he faced an opponent, the world disappeared. Nothing else existed.”

He fell silent.

“Was he as good as you?” she prompted.

“Almost. With magic down, he’d be a problem for me. Possibly even for Daniels.”

He brought up Kate.  That usually meant he’d gone into a dark place. Roland’s biological daughter was the reason for his exile. They had a long and tangled history, none of it good. Hugh had done horrible things while under Roland’s control and they plagued his soul festering there until they ruptured into open sores. Kate was a wound that never healed.

“How long was he with you?” she asked.

“Eight years,” Hugh said. “We had a winter base near Wichita Falls in north Texas. Pretty country down there.  Mild winter, lakes, rivers. We’d come back to it year after year when not on mission. One day he came to me and said he wanted out. He met a girl and decided he was done being a Dog.”

“But he loved being a swordsman?”

Hugh shook his head. “It wasn’t love. More like compulsion. It consumed him, and when he was with her, he could put it away. She freed him of it.”

“What did you do?”

“What could I do? I let him go. It was his second chance at life. He could be whatever he wanted to be. Everyone was happy for him.”

A cold unease washed over her. “Did you find him in Aberdine?”

“I did. I found him in that shithole of a camp. With people who didn’t deserve him and treated him like an attack dog. Those assholes couldn’t even be bothered with basic shit like guards and patrols. Elara, we just rode right in there. It was dirty and disorganized, a fucking disgrace. And those shitheads thought they could hold a town for ransom, and we would just let them.”

He was disgusted by all of it. The mercenaries had no idea how lucky they were. He could have just wiped them all out, and his face told her he had considered it. They probably deserved it.

“How the fuck did he end up there?” Hugh stopped. “He left with enough money to last him for five years. It should have been enough to take her anywhere and do whatever they wanted. Should I have kept him?”

“He wasn’t yours to keep,” she said gently. “You saved him, you trained him, and then you let him go. The rest was up to him.”

He gave her a dark look. “And he fucked it up.”

On the scales of Hugh’s life, with so much guilt and darkness piled up on one side, this young swordsman must have been a counterweight. Someone Hugh saved. Proof that he wasn’t irredeemable, that the Iron Dogs stood for more than slaughter and destruction. Even while under Roland’s influence, with his life going up in flames, Hugh had let him go. He was a remarkable asset, but his future happiness mattered, and Hugh released him.

Now that happiness lay in ruins. Seeing that broke something in Hugh. She could feel him retreating deeper inside himself, in the place where Hugh faded, and Roland’s warlord took the front line. The memory of a burning maelstrom with fangs she once saw in his soul scalded her. She had to keep him with her, anchored in here and now no matter what it took.

“If you’d kept him against his will, he could have died,” she told him. “You said yourself that Roland wrecked everything you built. As good as he was, he would be near the top of the execution list. At least he’s alive.”

“There’s that.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“I’ll show you.”

They’d reached the third floor. A trace of magic tugged on her. It came from the left, from the direction of the guest suite where they put potentially troublesome visitors. It felt sharp, almost spiky, like a cocklebur bristling with hooked needles. It pulsed in a subdued rhythm, active but muted.

She sped up. They marched down the hallway to the door. Hugh knocked and pushed the door open, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

A young woman with long dark hair lay on the bed. The burr of magic wrapped around her, fused with her body, strangled her vitality, growing from it like a parasite. Her eyes were shut, her skin was pallid, and patches of fuzzy dark growth, rippling with black, red, and purple, marked her exposed arms and neck. It looked like someone had scooped a toxic bacterial colony from some giant petri dish, smeared it all over her, and it took root.

A man in his mid-twenties sat in the chair by bed. He looked up at their approach and his eyes were full of grief.

The magic burr pulsed with power.

“A curse.” The word fell from Elara’s lips. She had never seen one like that.

“Can it be undone?” Hugh asked her.

“I don’t know. But we will try.”

The post Wednesday, Thursday, Hughday… Chapter 5: Part 1 first appeared on ILONA ANDREWS.

Dragonslayer (OSR Publishing, February 7, 2024). Cover by Jeff Easley

I’ve admired the mega-dungeon adventures of Greg Gillespie for several years, particularly Barrowmaze and The Forbidden Caverns of Archaia. Most recently, Greg published his own set of rules to go with those adventures. It’s called Dragonslayer, and I think it’s excellent. Here is the description from the back of the book:

Journey to a realm of myth and magic, where ancient legends and terrifying minsters come to life, and adventure awaits…
Inspired by the timeless role-playing tradition of the early 1980s, this ruleset seamlessly integrates the simplicity of B/X with the chrome if First Edition. The book has everything you need: classes, spells, monsters, and treasure, combined in a single volume.

For those who don’t know, “B/X” is the acronym for the Basic and Expert rules of Dungeons & Dragons.

Interiors from Dragonslayer

The Basic and Expert rules were conceived by Tom Moldvay and Zeb Cook, who in turn derived their inspiration from the works of Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson — and also the previous Basic set (my personal favorite) compiled by John E. Holmes.

B/X is probably the most “cloned” version of D&D, yet Greg establishes his own flavor, quite admirably, within that framework. It’s nicely done!

Lastly, it’s really great to see art from the likes of Jeff Easley, Diesel LaForce, and Darlene Artist. All legends of the hobby whose work I have admired for decades.

Jeffrey P. Talanian’s last article for Black Gate was a review of Robert E. Howard’s “Worms of the Earth.” He is the creator and publisher of the Hyperborea sword-and-sorcery and weird science-fantasy RPG from North Wind Adventures. He was the co-author, with E. Gary Gygax, of the Castle Zagyg releases, including several Yggsburgh city supplements, Castle Zagyg: The East Mark Gazetteer, and Castle Zagyg: The Upper Works. Read Gabe Gybing’s interview with Jeffrey here, and follow his latest projects on Facebook and at www.hyperborea.tv.

The last thing the hyper-advanced Human Confederation expected to encounter on Darius – a far distant and long lost colony world – was actual magic, sorcerers and magicians and other inexplicable feats that the most advanced technology could not duplicate. Determined to discover the source of the mystery, the Confederation dispatched a survey team to Darius and eventually discovered that the human settlers had tapped into the Darius Machine, an inexplicable piece of alien technology that granted supernatural powers to those capable of calling upon its aid. The Darius Machine was accidentally destroyed, seemingly rendering the former godlike humans powerless, but leaving behind a number of children with strange and often frightening powers of their own.

That was seventeen years ago.

Since then, the Darius Children have been raised on Clarke, an isolated world where they can be studied as well as protected from the remainder of the human race. Their powers appear simplistic and yet very dangerous, provoking fear as well as awe in their teachers; their attempts to expand their abilities, and bring others into their mental network, threaten the very fabric of reality itself. As they start to demand the right to leave their homeworld, a sociopath strikes and kidnaps one of the Children, intending to sell her to the highest bidder. Another Child must go in pursuit …

And hidden in the shadows, an unseen manipulator lays the seeds of a galaxy-wide conflagration.

Purchase from the links HERE or BOOKS2READ!

 

What Moves the Dead (Sworn Soldier #1)by T. Kingfisher
What is it about:From the award-winning author of The Twisted Ones comes a gripping and atmospheric retelling of Edgar Allan Poe's classic "The Fall of the House of Usher."
When Alex Easton, a retired soldier, receives word that their childhood friend Madeline Usher is dying, they race to the ancestral home of the Ushers in the remote countryside of Ruritania.
What they find there is a nightmare of fungal growths and possessed wildlife, surrounding a dark, pulsing lake. Madeline sleepwalks and speaks in strange voices at night, and her brother Roderick is consumed with a mysterious malady of the nerves.
Aided by a redoubtable British mycologist and a baffled American doctor, Alex must unravel the secret of the House of Usher before it consumes them all.
What did I think of it:I totally pre-ordered this book because it sounded cool and I couldn't resist that cover! (The end-papers have a really cool illustration as well.)
And this is indeed a really cool read!
It's a retelling of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher." , but you can definitely read it without having read Poe's original. It's atmospheric, disturbing, and delightfully creepy.
I loved Alex, they're a great hero: down to earth, pragmatic, but also caring towards their friends. And their narration brings some humor to an otherwise creepy tale. Having read a lot of Poe's works, the plot wasn't unfamiliar, but the way Kingfisher gave it life and brought new things to it made that I was invested from the start. 
A warning to those who might have read other books by Kingfisher (A Wizard’s Guide to Defensive Baking or Paladin's Grace for example): Kingfisher is a pen name used by Ursula Vernon for anything that doesn't fit the Ursula Vernon name, so this book is very different than some of the other books written under the Kingfisher name.
You bet i'll be trying to find more creepy, atmospheric beauty among the Kingfisher books though! 
Why should you read it:It's a delightfully atmospheric read.
Thoughts on rereading:Yup: Still just as beautifully atmospheric as the first time. A total keeper. Now on to read the next one.