It is official! I received a signed contact from Founder's House Publishing for my novelette Over the Top of the World! It will appear in a compilation of stories set in the fictional universe of John Michael Greer's novel Star's Reach. We don't have a publishing date as of yet, but it should be in the next six months. Here is the opening chapel of the novelette, for your reading pleasure.
A Warm Summer’s ‘Eve
Yan shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench and drank deeply from his clay mug. The beer tasted bitter. A sleepy looking elwus strummed at a tar in the corner, and the innkeeper busied himself with rinsing and drying mugs. Yan tried to remember how many pints he had ordered and how much copper he had left in his pocket. Outside, a strong southerly wind moaned through the streets, moving the summer heat from place to place. The candles burned low and flickered as gusts of wind came in through the open windows. A figure opened the door and entered the tavern. He walked deliberately. His light summer cloak swirled around him. He placed a silver piece on the bar. The innkeeper poured two mugs of beer and two shots of rum.
“You want this with sugar and lemon?” the innkeeper asked. The cloaked man nodded. He turned his face to Yan and motioned him over to the bar. Yan briefly saw the black patch over the man’s left eye, recognizing him from the failed hunt. Yan pondered running from the inn but, instead, dragged his feet one unsteady step at a time towards the bar. The man’s lips twitched upward slightly, which Yan took for a smile.
“You are Yan sunna Webb, yes? Yan the hound boy? “ the man declared. “I am Jorge, Second Gent of Cunnel Bangor. I was on the hunt today, but I don’t think we were introduced. Come have a drink with me, boy.”
Yan looked up at the man, who stood a good dozen senamees taller than him. The man had a broader chest and dark hair that fell about his shoulders. The hair was the same shade as the patch over his eye. Yan noticed several knives on the man’s belt.
“Have you come to kill me?” he replied. The man’s lips pulled back into a full smile, showing Yan two gold teeth.
“I don’t buy dead men drinks, boy. Waste of booze. Drink up,” he motioned to the shot glasses and mugs. Yan did as instructed, letting the rum, sugar and lemon mingle on his tongue before swallowing. He chased the rum with the beer, noticing the beer was cold and bubbled on his tounge. Expensive
“Thank you,” Yan said.
“The boy has manners” the man said to the innkeeper, who nodded.
“I have a proposition for you, young man,” the older man pulled off his cloak and hung it on a hook at the end of the bar. He sat on the stool near the end of the bar but kept from turning his back to the door. Yan sat.
“Yan sunna Webb, trainer of hounds. What a mess your dogs made of that boar today. Have you been here drinking since the Cunnel sent you packing?” Yan nodded, feeling the warmth of the rum overpowering his cool beer.
“Rum, sugar and lemon. Doesn’t that mean you are a sailor?” Yan asked.
“I knew you weren’t as dumb as the Cunnel said,” the corners of the man’s lips twitched upwards again. The inn keeper quietly went back to cleaning mugs. The elwus slid off his chair and grabbed Yan’s orphan beer. He slunk back to the far corner of the bar. They both watched him. The man with the eye patch shook his head. “He’ll pass out before I’m done explaining my proposition.”
“What is your proposition?” Yan stumbled through the question.
“I’m not a sailor boy, but I will be putting to sea. Cunnel Bangor has contracted myself and my P’toon out to Her Grace, Amiral Celya Ban, First Amiral of all Nuwinga. Me and my mureens will be setting to sea with the Amiral, over the North Ocean, to Rosh. There we will set about sinking ‘Rabic ships and killing ‘Rabic pirates until either the Presden of Nuwinga tells us to sail home or the Patriarch of all Rosh gets tired of us wooing all their fair maidens, or boys, or even tweens, if you find that inticing. The Amiral told the Cappens to scour all the towns and villages of Nuwinga for anything that might give us a tactical edge over the ‘Rabs, or, failing that, any able sailors we can coax onto a ship, or, failing that, any warm bodies that can learn to hoist a sail. You and your dogs might suffice for the first, or, failing that, least the last. So what are your plans after tonight boy?” he picked up his mug.
“Well, I thought I might go home,” Yan slowly replied. He took a swig from his mug, too. “The hounds, my bag of clothes, are pretty much all my family gave me when I left. My older sister was always better at hounding. She will take over when my parents are too old to keep the village hunters supplied. I don’t know how much a hound sells for here, and I can’t imagine settling here as a dog farmer.” He shivered at the thought.
“Well, boy, the ‘Rabs are only dog farmers. And that’s only the poorest of them. Over there they have no dogs larger than maybe, twenty kilgams. They certainly don’t have hounds like yours. They’d run screaming at the sight of just one of yours.” he drank.
“I don’t know if my hounds would be useful in a fight. They’re hunters, not really fighters. You could probably find fighters if you sailed down to Ammers or maybe Worster. I hear they have fighters there.” Yan blinked and drank again.
“I could, but I doubt a bunch of fighting mutts could spend months on a ship. They’d probably all eat each other. Anyway think on it. I will return in the morning for your answer. You’ll be better paid in the service of an Amiral than farming dogs in this town.” the man downed his beer, stood, threw his cloak over his shoulder, and strode from the bar.
When he had gone, the innkeeper sidled over to where Yan sat. Nearly whispering, he said “I’d get you a good price for those dogs. The town doesn’t have but one dog farmer. It’s a better job then getting drawn by a bunch of ‘Rabs ten thousand kloms from here under someone else’s sky.”
“My hounds are not for sale,” Yan replied.
“Sheath yourself,” the innkeeper shrugged. He moved off down the bar. The elwus snored in the corner, cuddled up with his tar. Yan drank the last of his beer and stepped out the back of the inn into the blustery night. He relieved himself in the back alley then walked to the small barn behind the inn. One of the hounds stirred when he entered. Yan followed the sound of thumping tails. He laid out his own olive drab cloak over the hay and laid down next to his hounds. One of them licked the tears off his face. He closed his eyes and dreamed of another failed hunt. Morning came too soon.