tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-274265982024-03-17T23:03:41.166-04:00Pyr-o-maniaLisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.comBlogger1170125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-6400694892312998192017-02-09T13:11:00.000-05:002017-02-09T13:11:15.728-05:00An epic end is near!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Later this month <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/Worldshakers.html">Worldshaker</a>, the epic end to J. F. Lewis's Grudgebearer trilogy, comes out! If you like your sword and sorcery with dragons, fae, and a world more detailed than our own, this series is for you. Read on for an exclusive excerpt!<br />
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“Outstanding...one of the most uniquely layered and complex universes since Frank Herbert's <i>Dune</i>.”</div>
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—<b>Starburst Magazine</b></div>
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Uled, the originator of the carnivorous Aern, the plantlike Vael, and the reptilian Zaur, has completed his plan to return from the dead, unleashing an army of undead creatures on the living world.<br />
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Kholster, who only recently became the god of death, must work together with other new deities to bring balance to the heavens and stop Uled. Can he prevent Uled's undead army from ravaging the world in time to save Rae'en and those he still loves in the mortal realm?<br />
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Child tucked firmly against his chest, Striappa ran, his sharp
black talons gouging furrows in the tile floor. Chaos erupted about them in a
tortured reflection of the battles raging in the Guild Cities, outside the
walls of the Long Speaker’s tower. The manitou’s fur-covered ears rang with the
clamorous din within and without, raised voices combining to form another
voice, a meaningless babble of aggression and fear . . . the dying, the
injured, and the aggressors all becoming one cry. Music, he imagined, to the
war god’s ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Clutching Caius Vindalius, the winged little
son of the crystal-twisted young woman Kholster had entrusted to the Long
Speakers’ care, even more tightly to his feathered and furred chest, Striappa
shivered both at the tickling touch of the babe’s tiny hands on that warm band
of thick fur where breast feathers met belly feathers and at the recalled
sharing of his grandmatron. His surroundings, the sound of them, drew out
remembered tales of the great wars before most manitou left the lands of the
shape-locked and founded the Gathering Isles, far off to the west in the grand
expanses of the Cerrullic Ocean, away from the violence of those melded sounds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Noona shared the vibrations of this third
voice, taught the clutches of her family and those who nested with them to
recognize it, and, when they heard it, to migrate home. “The voice of war is
one the manitou no longer wish to hear,” she’d told Striappa and his siblings
as they’d curled near the fire pit, snatching at the flames with their claws to
harden them and to learn the strength of the fire, how to resist it, how to let
it move through them, how to feel the way it changed and flowed and perhaps
apply that to their shapeshifting, if they could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“But fighting is glorious, right, Noona?” Striappa had asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Noona’s face had morphed from the friendly
beaked and feathered visage that had spat scrumptiously softened foods into his
maw when he had been too young to hunt for himself to a spiny face of leathery
skin, a mouth of sharp fangs. Great curling horns had erupted from her<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">brow, as tusks had sprouted from her morphing muzzle. The bands of
alternating fur and feathers of her body had flattened into bony plates of
armor, jutting spikes rising up from the ones she chose. Talons had become
claws and seized him, forcing him down, head close to the flames. Solid black
eyes like those of a shark had glared at him from a face no longer warm or
comforting, making him ill inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Am I glorious or terrifying?” Noona had growled, in the harsh
tones of a non-avian throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Both,” he’d answered squawkily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Yes.” She’d smiled, still ghastly in her aspect. “Both is right,
my little one.” Releasing him with a grunt, she had turned her back to the
flames, leathery wings stretching out to take flight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;">“Where are you going, Noona?” Clohi, one of
Striappa’s sisters had asked, but Striappa had known, even before Noona had
spoken the words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“To hunt, my lovelies.” The barb at the end of her long tail
caught the light as she flew. “All change has its price, and most amount to
blood in the end. I’ll be back soon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Run, Striappa,” a grizzled voice snapped in his ears, “or fly or
whatever it is you manitou do the quickest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“I am running, Master Sedric,” the manitou
squawked back at the hazy smoke-formed image of the Elder Long Speaker. Sedric
might know everything there was to know about Long Speaking—Striappa certainly
could not send his mind out across hundreds of miles as a being of smoke—but he
knew more about shapeshifting than Sedric ever would, and it was hard to move
quickly and change at the same time. Sedric was right, though; if Striappa was
going to get Caius to safety, he knew he was going to need his wing-arms free
at some point, so he was trying to create a belly pouch to hold him. “Pouches are
hard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“You weren’t thinking about pouches, child.”
Sedric’s smoky lips pursed. “You were brain-fogged by tales your Noona told you
as a cub.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Hatchling,” Striappa corrected, before he could stop himself. He
darted for the open doorway through which Sedric’s smoky sending had emerged,
but Sedric waved him off toward the far stairway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Too much fighting that way; you’ll need to
fly out of here.” Sedric groaned, then vanished, eyes ablaze with inner light,
a ball of burning, crackling red manifesting at the center of his brow. He
reappeared when Striappa paused halfway up the stairwell to get the pouch
right. It had to be easier for girls, or surely they would never bother.
Striappa kept losing the opening or making something more mouth-like, into
which one would not want to place any infant one wanted to keep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Oh for Torgrimm’s sake, Streep. Why are you
stopping now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Streep. Striappa’s hackles rose at the barb. Even a single-shaped
human as enlightened as Master Sedric thought it was okay to drop in a
nickname, despite how insulting that was to—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“I know exactly how insulting it is,” Sedric said with a sigh.
“You keep stopping, and I can’t guide you much longer. The fighting at
Castle-guard is getting worse, and Cassandra and I—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Then shut your changeless maw, ’dric, and
let me finish!” Striappa growled, beak giving way to fang-filled muzzle. The
anger, the desire to prove Sedric wrong, gave Striappa the extra bit of inner
energy needed to complete the change, and he slid the quiet, almost
contemplative, baby into his belly pouch. The weight took a brief adjustment to
muscles and bones, so he wouldn’t be off balance when he flew or, Gromma and
Xal-istan both forbid, if he needed to fight. He let the start of a barbed tail
begin to sprout . . . just in case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Master Sedric,” Striappa began.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Yes, yes.” Sedric waved away his comments with hands of wispy
smoke. “We’re both sorry for insulting each other. Well, you regret insulting
me in any case. Now move!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">At the top of the stair, the manitou looked
out into the hallway. Near the top of the spire now, close to the Apex Chamber,
there were supposed to be guards: at least one Far Flame and a Long Fist, plus
a Master Long Speaker. Striappa was none of those things, just a Long Speaker,
and a weak one by human standards, though quite strong when compared to the
scant gifts most manitou Long Speakers possessed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">Two screams rang out, preceding a female Long
Speaker in master’s robes, who poked her head down into the stairwell that
opened up in the center of the chamber above.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;">“Striappa?” She ran down to meet him. Her
face was wide and strong </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">and well-fed. “I’m Arin. Master
Sedric said I was to allow you access to the Overview.”<span style="letter-spacing: -.25pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">She held her hand out, calloused palm up so
he could scent her if he wanted. Or was he meant to take it? He did, impressed
by the strength of the muscles coiled beneath her skin. Exceptional for a
human.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“What happened to the other guards?”
Striappa asked, as he followed Arin up the stair and out into the Overview.
From inside the walls of the vaulted chamber a thinly applied layer of
mirror-smooth Aldite crystal allowed initiates of the Guild a panoramic view of
the city below and granted them the option, if necessary, to focus and amplify
their abilities . . . a secret the leaders of the surrounding cities had, in
the opinion of the Long Speaker’s Guild Leadership, no need to know . . . and
exactly the reason why no Long Speaker (or Far Flame, in particular) was
allowed unaccompanied access to the Apex.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;">On a normal day, the top of the spire served
as the point from which the strongest Long Speakers relayed messages from other
Long Speaker schools and outposts, acting as hubs of information, collecting,
recording, and relaying data as needed. A single door broke the seamless
expanse, allowing access to a circular balcony where two more guards should
have stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Striappa spotted the interior Far Flame and
Long Fist guards, his neck feathers ruffling at the sight. They lay dead at the
exterior doorway, each with a knitting needle poking out of their skulls. One
still twitched, prompting Arin to kneel next to him with a gentle clucking of
her tongue as she adjusted the angle of her knitting needle and stilled him
forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Poor things,” Arin explained, when she noticed his gaze lingering
on the bodies. “I hope whomever is the god of death today is kind to them. They
were loyal to the city rather than the Guild . . . and Master Sedric insisted
there wasn’t time to argue the point with them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Striappa eyed her, still studying her scent,
tail barb twitching. “Come. Come.” She straightened with a limberness better
suited to </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">a manitou her size than a human and gestured
at the open exterior door. “Hurry along now.” Arin shooed him. “I can’t take my
full attention</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: .2in; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">from the transmission flow, or I’ll miss something and
risk a resend.” “Don’t resends happen all the time?” Striappa asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;">“Not when I’m on duty.” Arin’s eyes sparkled
with pride and, </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">perhaps, a trace of gentle madness. Or was that loyalty? It could
be hard to tell with humans. “I have a perfect transmission record.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Ah.” A movement at Striappa’s belly drew his attention. Baby
Caius peered over the pouch edge, looking at the dead men with inhuman
blood-red eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Oh.” Arin beamed, eyes alight with delighted appraisal. “What I
wouldn’t give to have an apprentice come to me with a look like that in his
eyes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“You could take him,” Striappa offered. “You have a Matron Guard’s
scent about you. You could—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“He has no outward reach,” Arin told him. “He has gifts, but he’s
thrifty with them, keeps them all directed inward. His body will be his weapon
and his mind its architect. Reach out to him. Can you feel his thoughts?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“No,” Striappa answered. “I thought it was because he was so soon
out of the egg and my abilities are not very—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“I can feel them.” The large woman reached out to the child and
cooed at him, but the child’s eyes followed hers, ignoring the hand as if it
were of no import. “But give him a few years and a little practice and to those
of us with the Long Ways, it will be as if he doesn’t exist.” Her smile did not
falter when she added, “We should kill him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“But Master Sedric told me—” Striappa bared
his claws.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Caius laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">“Put your claws away, little manitou.” Arin
laughed, too. “I’ll abide by Sedric’s will because I am so sworn. But you mind
what I said. That one should have never been brought here. He’s a little sponge
and they took him to the center of the Guild Cities where all manner of
knowledge could slip into his mind and stick there. What seeds have been
planted in that fertile brain amid all of this bloodshed, I shudder to think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">At a loss for words, Striappa squawked a
challenge at her, but Arin made no move to impede him. Fluffing up his
feathers, the manitou walked out onto the scant balcony. The cities of Loom and
Lumber were burning. Rioters streamed through Commerce, the central city. The
standing guard of Warfare could be seen deploying throughout the conjoined
Guild Cities, working in tandem with various members of the Long Speaker’s
Guild. Bridgeward, the great Southern Gate stood closed,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">its walls manned by Dwarves and the Aernese Token Hundred. Even if
the Guild Cities fell, the Bridge would stand fast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Mason, to the southwest, seemed quietest of the embattled
metropoles, so Striappa flew in that direction. Once he was clear of the city,
he could find a tree or a cave and sleep until dusk. He preferred traveling at
night, particularly at the rising and setting of the suns, when he was more
comfortable and his sight was better. He wasn’t alone in the sky. Bat-like
Cavair swooped from place to place in the city, some assisting the guard,
others taking part in the looting. Ignoring them as best he could, Striappa
flapped toward the strong stone walls of Mason. As he drew closer, he could see
the massive ever-open gates had been secured. Archers manned the arrow-slitted
walls, taking shots at any who drew too near.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.35pt;">Turning circles in the sky, Striappa
surveyed the flow. He didn’t like the look of those bowmen, and flying too high
might endanger the baby. Humans did not do so well at high altitudes. Still . .
. A few more revolutions took him higher and higher until he felt certain he
was out of bowshot. It would have been stupid to die in the open having already
escaped the Long Speaker’s tower and the violent divide that had, in the Guild
Cities at least, spread even to those of the Long Talents. Initiate versus
initiate in the absence of Master Sedric. <i>How
fared Sedric? </i>he wondered. <i>If Master
Sedric and Mistress Cassandra fall at Castleguard, what will become of the—?</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">Bands of multicolored light filled the air,
blinding him mere heartbeats ahead of the explosion. The mind lash
accompanying it nearly took the thought out of him. Protected by his weakness
in Long Speaking, Striappa felt the gift burn out (not for good, he hoped) and
fade, rather than experiencing more drastic results. Striappa dropped a double
handful of wing-lengths in the air, but flapped, beak bloody, back to a safer
altitude soon thereafter, concentrating on the feel of the infant breathing in
his pouch to ensure they did not travel high enough to cause him harm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Striappa looked back long enough to watch the spire fall in a
flicker of slow motion, fading in and out of sight as if—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">No. There was no time to speculate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Master Sedric had given him a mission: get
the child out of the city. Get the child to safety. Await further instructions
once the child was safe. And so he flew and tried not to think of the body he’d
seen in the after-</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;">image, arms wide, amid the wreckage and the falling chaos, eyes
closed in concentration as she kept the transmission river flowing on the swift
trip down.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection2">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Burned out and abandoned, the farm looked
safe enough to the young manitou. The dead—and there had been dead—lay cold in
the ground, yet no rebuilding had begun, and the barn seemed vacant enough
despite the smells clinging to it. Best of all, it was out of the rain. Water
falling from the sky did not bother Striappa. A manitou of his clutch could easily
shift from feathers to leather wings if flying lightly-boned, but the lightning
disconcerted him. When his Long Skills were functioning he would have risked
it, but the infant didn’t like flying through it all, and though the child did
not cry, Striappa was mildly concerned about keeping the boy warm and dry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">So, once the water had risen too much for him to shelter under the
small, well-built bridge he’d found (and he didn’t much like sheltering that
low to the ground in any case), he’d circled back to perch in the loft of the
barn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Striappa had not meant to doze, but he had
been tired and not entirely certain the bloody beak and the fading of his
powers was not a sign of a head injury. He was surprised to hear little Caius’s
burbling coo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Pain came next, sharp and sudden, burning him through the back and
lungs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">He slashed back reflexively, talons catching
a dirty ragged shirt instead of finding purchase in the meat of Striappa’s
killer. Shifting into a more land-friendly form hurt, but he had to defend
Caius against—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Name’s Hap,” spat the hard-looking human
with murder in his eye. He wore a coat of plates, with a layer of rags sewn
over the top to make it look less like armor. Angry hanging-scars at his throat
burned red from recent exertion. Little Caius hung in a sling looped under the
coat, but over Hap’s shoulders. In either hand, Hap held cruel-looking daggers.
Both bore blood. “My boy’s name is Caius. Where’s his mother?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Hap?” Striappa squawked numbly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Happrenzaltik Konstantine Vindalius.” The
man gave a slight nod.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection4">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“I have been your murderer this evening. Now
where is Cadie? Slight little thing, three-colored hair. A crystal twist.
Burned down that house fighting whoever killed my crew. She wouldn’t have left
the child behind, and you’re here with the child. It doesn’t take a scholar to
know one sun rises right after the other.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Murderer?” Shifting came too hard. Things which should have
melded together ripped and tore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Shifting won’t do you any good now, you
dumb squawker,” Hap snarled. “I cut you nice and proper cross your core
muscles. What you’re doing will only make the wounds hurt worse and you die
faster.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Why?” Striappa managed, as the world began to blink in and out of
focus, field of vision narrowing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“I was hoping you could tell me where the boy’s mother is. Cadence
Vindalius.” Everything went dark, and Striappa felt himself drop to the dirty
straw. “And barring that, a man has to eat.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Striappa gasped as the pain vanished and he
found himself back in the family nest he had missed since the great storm had
wiped it away when he was little and they’d had to rebuild. When he’d been a
hatchling, there had been no warsuit-clad Aern standing in it. Removing a helm
that bore the likeness of a horned lion’s skull, the Aern looked down on him
with a stern face, made less frightening by eyes with black sclera and
jade-rimmed amber-colored pupils, which, though unusual, possessed and conveyed
a sad understanding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“You’re an idiot, but you’re a well-meaning
one, and you died in the keeping of an oath, so I have no particular disdain
for you.” Kholster, the new god of death, ran a hand over his red hair, his
forearm bending his wolf-like ears down each time he did so. “Do you want to go
back and try things again, or do you want to be judged by the Bone Queen?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“I’m dead,” Striappa said, more awe in his
voice than fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Yes.” Kholster bared his teeth, showing off his upper and lower
doubled canines in a sarcastic grin. “And you aren’t the only one who will be
dying tonight. If it helps at all, you seem a nice enough soul to me. Minapsis
will not likely find you wanting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection5">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“What will happen to the baby?” Striappa asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“</span><i><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 10pt;">I </span></i><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">don’t know, and you never will.” Kholster’s tone sang to Striappa
of barely constrained impatience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">“Is something wrong, sir?” Striappa asked.
“You seem to have greens down your gob about something, if I’m using that
phrase correctly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“Yes.” Kholster held out his hand. “There are a great number of
things going wrong right now. Come along. I fear one of me will be required in
some tunnels very soon now, and if I’m needed I would like to go myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“You were mortal until recently, weren’t you?” Striappa obediently
took the god’s hand. It felt like he had taken the hand of a statue that had
decided not to crush all of the bones, but only just.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;">“I was.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“The people who might need you, in the tunnels, were they friends
of yours?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">“One was,” Kholster said, as the world went all to stars and Striappa
felt himself begin to flow from one place to another. “The others are friends
of my daughter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 11.0pt;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: auto;" />
</span>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-indent: 0px;">______________________________________________________________</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-indent: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-indent: 0px;"><b><i>Worldshaker </i></b>will be available in stores on February 21.</span></div>
</div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-23804190489078067672016-10-25T08:30:00.000-04:002016-10-25T08:30:18.300-04:00A perfect tale for Halloween<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Halloween is almost here, and there's nothing better than a supernatural story to get you in the mood! If you crave something other than witches and vampires and werewolves (oh my!) then Barbara Barnett's debut <i><a href="http://pyrsf.com/ApothecarysCurse.html">The Apothecary's Curse</a></i> might be just what you're looking for. Rene Sears, editorial director of Pyr, recently chatted with Barbara about her writing style and inspiration behind this tale of the true price of immortality. Read on for more!</span><br />
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<b>-----------------------------------------------</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The lives of two men become entwined for centuries after an apothecary creates an elixir from an ancient manuscript. Physician Simon Bell and apothecary Gaelan Erceldoune are able to conceal their immortality, but the only hope for reversing their condition rests with the now missing manuscript. When a modern-day pharmaceutical company unearths diaries that could lead them to the fabled "elixir of life," Simon and Gaelan must race to find the manuscript before their secret is discovered.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX_H65Rd9I7lw9js-W556ORPFaSDFzhndrmutvYIoAEXg3gU8wvTTUFYZsN9zC7w1lqKF7x6C7zWppBB2A_hahD_1nSz3IqJvqBpmjHEfwcgKCcHW2JmZyV7XXqYp6ADc1xw/s1600/Apothecary%2527s+Curse_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX_H65Rd9I7lw9js-W556ORPFaSDFzhndrmutvYIoAEXg3gU8wvTTUFYZsN9zC7w1lqKF7x6C7zWppBB2A_hahD_1nSz3IqJvqBpmjHEfwcgKCcHW2JmZyV7XXqYp6ADc1xw/s400/Apothecary%2527s+Curse_cover.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Rene Sears: I
love the way the story in <i>The Apothecary's Curse</i> weaves through two timelines.
What led you to such a that structure rather than a more linear timeline? <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Barbara Barnett</b>: My original road map told the story in a much more
straightforward linear narrative. But as I wrote, two things happened. One, I
realized I had to either do a very long time jump from 1842 to the modern-day
story or fill in the story of the intervening years more fully, which would
have led to quite a different (and much longer) novel than I desired. Second,
as I developed the relationship between Gaelan and Anne Shawe, I began to see
parallels with his Victorian-era story and I wanted to really explore that. So
rather than keep it linear, I thought it would be much more interesting to
integrate the two storylines, revealing both simultaneously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>In the book, a
geneticist speculates about human immortality in relation to Turritopsis
dohrnii, the immortal jellyfish. How did you come to be interested in the
jellyfish, and how did it relate to the genesis of some of your ideas for this
book?</b> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I knew I didn’t want the immorality to be explainable only by
some sort of magic event. That would never do for my skeptical hero Gaelan
Erceldoune! He would say that all magic is simply science we did not yet understand,
so I had to find science that might explain his immortality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My undergrad studies were in biology and chemistry, and I
have always been fascinated with genetics. So when I came across the 2009 Nobel
Prize-winning research on the “immortal” jellyfish and its telomeres, I thought
I’d hit on something that could play very well in my story. How can the
jellyfish be immortal? Its extraordinarily sturdy telomeres (the chromosome end-caps,
more or less) keep the keep the chromosomes from deteriorating and the
jellyfish from aging. So, my fictional geneticist’s research is based upon the
Nobel work and fueled by her family’s genetic history.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJP9T4Nh1Vdu22M3C4oHPXqkC4rje8emuh76jBKIXob4Po8GZDBMF0LU3RTVcj8AvNIf9jazQtm3OwYNusDKpaYCapg30i0GI-jankPB_1sd_kf8xIfA1PPWUqad4I5Mw0g/s1600/BarnettAuthor+Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEJP9T4Nh1Vdu22M3C4oHPXqkC4rje8emuh76jBKIXob4Po8GZDBMF0LU3RTVcj8AvNIf9jazQtm3OwYNusDKpaYCapg30i0GI-jankPB_1sd_kf8xIfA1PPWUqad4I5Mw0g/s200/BarnettAuthor+Photo.jpg" width="199" /></a><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">What goes into your
writing process, and do you outlines before you write or discover as you go?
<i>Apothercary's Curse</i> has such wonderful mood and atmosphere; I also wondered if
you write to music, and if so, do you have a playlist for the book?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I tend to write road maps rather than hard and fast outlines.
I keep in mind the classic “three-act” structure and put bullet points just
under the chapter headings so I know where I want to go by the time I’ve gotten
through a chapter. Beyond that, I really like the journey of discovery along
with my characters. I started <i>The
Apothecary’s Curse</i> with a fairly detailed road map, and then my characters
took on a mind of their own, but even so, every time I got stuck or lost in the
journey, my outline guided me back to where I wanted to be, at least in broad
strokes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As far as writing to music goes, I’m a professional singer,
and when I have music in the background, I get distracted and listen to the
music. So I generally do not listen to music while writing. However, I <i>was</i> listening to music when I wrote the
Simon’s first scene visiting Bedlam. I was listening to Mozart’s <i>Requiem</i>, and when I went back to
re-read, I was stunned by the sheer number of musical metaphors that had found
their way into that scene!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
scenes in Bedlam seem really appropriate this close to Halloween! We'd love to
know any scary details you came across about Bedlam in the course of your
research. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bedlam was in itself a scary place—especially for the poor
wretches sent there. I thought it was interesting that in the pre-psychiatry
days, the doctors treating mental illness were called mad doctors. <i>Apothecary’s</i> “mad doctor” really is a <i>mad</i> doctor. So many of the treatments
used there would now be considered extreme torture, and if a person wasn’t
insane when admitted to Bedlam, he or she surely would be in short order.
Horrendous experimentation on patients was common as were “freak shows” not
unlike to which Gaelan was subjected. Many died at the hands of Bedlam’s mad
doctors and were buried in mass graves on the grounds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">And finally,
particularly as you have written extensively and analytically about television
shows, I'd like to hear what shows you're watching. :)</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My favorite shows right now are <i>Game of Thrones</i> on HBO, <i>Poldark</i>
(season two is upon us!) on PBS, <i>Man in
the High Castle</i> on Amazon (I’m a huge Philip K. Dick fan, and I adore
alternate history stories). The newest one on my screen is <i>Designated Survivor</i> with Kiefer Sutherland. I was not a big fan of <i>24</i>, but I really liked the first episode
a lot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I watch <i>Once Upon a
Time</i>, though not as intensely as I did during its first couple of seasons.
I adore the mashups of fairy tale and mythology, and I liked their original
take on Rumplestiltskin (yes, it’s spelled that way on the show!), especially
as portrayed by Robert Carlyle (who would make a fantastic Gaelan Erceldoune,
by the way!) but I think the show’s gotten a bit away from the original concept
over the last two seasons, but I’ll keep watching and hoping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m a politics junkie, so cable news is often my writing
white noise, while <i>Real Time with Bill
Mahler</i> and <i>Last Week Tonight</i> with
John Oliver (both on HBO) are appointment TV for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></o:p><b style="text-align: center;">-----------------------------------------------</b></div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-9514913533082357202016-06-30T15:44:00.002-04:002016-06-30T15:44:25.291-04:00Whelp, Tom Cruise agrees.If you're looking for a fun, fast-paced book to pick up this summer then we've got you covered. In less than two weeks Laurence MacNaughton's urban fantasy <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/ItHappenedOneDoomsday.html">It Happened One Doomsday</a> comes out, and if you don't believe us when we say it's <i>highly </i>entertaining then take a look at its trailer!<br />
<br />
Seriously.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wJCWetidjhA" width="560"></iframe>
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July 12 can't come fast enough.</div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-55677297278013422672016-06-02T14:59:00.000-04:002016-06-02T14:59:51.465-04:00New for June!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqAoCICXeluZREmwykrUGZ3Qo4QYRcLbjzzELR9r-1_TziDUfsn2mkZBnuowyARRCa7ju99FHt0efbL3Kj4fTpKHDy56rTxJv7O_i-qRG1lZMocMO-_iXpbN5reOGNgQUYQ/s1600/Spear+of+Light_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitqAoCICXeluZREmwykrUGZ3Qo4QYRcLbjzzELR9r-1_TziDUfsn2mkZBnuowyARRCa7ju99FHt0efbL3Kj4fTpKHDy56rTxJv7O_i-qRG1lZMocMO-_iXpbN5reOGNgQUYQ/s320/Spear+of+Light_cover.jpg" width="212" /></a>In just five days (less than a week!) the second and final installment in Brenda Cooper's Glittering Edge duology, <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/SpearofLight.html">Spear of Light</a>, hits shelves! Long ago, an advanced human society banished a group of near-AIs to the darkest corners of the galaxy. Now they've returned to build a new home for themselves next to the very race that tried to destroy them.<br />
<br />
If there's anyone you really should trust with your science fiction, it's Brenda Cooper. Why, you ask? Because she's a futurist. Her job is literally to <i>think about the future of mankind and our world</i>.<br />
<br />
To get yourself pumped up for this sequel, head to <a href="http://fantasyhotlist.blogspot.com/2016/05/extract-from-brenda-coopers-spear-of.html">Pat's Fantasy Hotlist</a> now to read the first chapter. Oh, and there's only one day left to enter the <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/188121-spear-of-light">Goodreads giveaway </a>for a finished copy! <br />
<br />
If you're a fan of Cooper and have read <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/edgeofdark.html">Edge of Dark</a>, then you absolutely need to get your hands on this one. <i>Spear of Light </i>hits shelves this Tuesday!<br />
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<br />
Don't miss out on these other books by Brenda Cooper:<br />
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<td><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15897047-the-creative-fire"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW181nc-bhJMkgqxEaZZmxLi7XNgsxqcT3rO539R6vAlEGf4SuOx5w6zo5qB-3JTTjy6KKf70pf2ZNDWm2azi5SZ4koTXxD9WPA1PDOziYozLH4PQ4O9MyYHsGSwXmAtQHeg/s1600/Creative+Fire_cover.jpg" width="180" /></a></td>
<td><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17737089-the-diamond-deep"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4xWsBX_TnYNGkjg_FjpTqDw0Kn5Xz5QA83El53WfVosdSDZSpsmIlRfO8pGy-vuvrPIqILegguSWTz1BPWi8glIPcp7gJ7jPIkQN-YvI_Koz2c1R9dEBnfSv9qCxkImnPcA/s1600/Diamond+Deep_cover.jpg" width="180" /></a></td>
<td><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22822946-edge-of-dark"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLY0YRGCwpAfNLnXPc0HJhjYuOsXCyCYo4NonurpP8nIoji1bIZ7oFbBkvG6zPd50psNPU9JHbAJ8kv49KVLMPqisxVXGYW1n5sFPkmbnwU8_ewIutMuzC_A-8PnDZvAaVYA/s1600/Edge+of+Dark_cover.jpg" width="180" /></a></td>
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<br />Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-63551671902325138672016-04-22T10:32:00.001-04:002016-04-22T12:01:50.190-04:00New cover alert!Ok so it's actually been a couple of days since we <i>officially </i>released the cover for Laurence MacNaughton's <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27405594-it-happened-one-doomsday?from_search=true&search_version=service">It Happened One Doomsday</a>, but here it is!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaef4SFix55QpMCTHJ4UNOkMQGqHRfaetvwsWNJU21kYB9aoxxWTPqzaV59X3lFCcsBI0-Hp_CwJ3vUD6sLhnoJxK4T9LLSR6PtoXJ483eR0xkdjOxv6_7yAjfbxa69vz6vg/s1600/It+Happened+one+Doomsday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaef4SFix55QpMCTHJ4UNOkMQGqHRfaetvwsWNJU21kYB9aoxxWTPqzaV59X3lFCcsBI0-Hp_CwJ3vUD6sLhnoJxK4T9LLSR6PtoXJ483eR0xkdjOxv6_7yAjfbxa69vz6vg/s640/It+Happened+one+Doomsday.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
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Magic is real. Only a handful of natural-born sorcerers can wield its arcane power against demons, foul creatures, and the forces of darkness. These protectors of the powerless are descendants of an elite order. The best magic-users in the world. </div>
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Unfortunately, Dru isn’t one of them.</div>
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Sure, she’s got a smidge of magical potential. She can use crystals to see enchantments or brew up an occasional potion. And she can research practically anything in the library of dusty leather-bound tomes she keeps stacked in the back of her little store. There, sandwiched between a pawn shop and a 24-hour liquor mart, she sells enough crystals, incense, and magic charms to scrape by. But everything changes the day a handsome mechanic pulls up in a possessed black muscle car, his eyes glowing red.</div>
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Just being near Greyson raises Dru’s magical powers to dizzying heights. But he’s been cursed to transform into a demonic creature that could bring about the end of the world. </div>
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Then she discovers that the Harbingers, seven fallen sorcerers, want to wipe the planet clean of humans and install themselves as new lords of an unfettered magical realm. And when they unearth the Apocalypse Scroll, the possibility of a fiery cosmic do-over suddenly becomes very real. </div>
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There’s only one chance to break Greyson’s curse and save the world from a fiery Doomsday – and it’s about to fall into Dru’s magically inexperienced hands....</div>
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<b>Look for it in stores July 12!</b><br />
<br />Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-8640038401755338232016-04-05T12:45:00.003-04:002016-04-05T12:45:31.867-04:00Countdown to Masks and Shadows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXh50pf8IwEjQI26imIfQ3D10sHSJfxQPj_qVNEm61sbddKwizzpGbdS2pvd9uIqMw2rq0veF45VWIFlAuFCvLHwi1GhloEP4c2r5r2GL5NCTDaEL2wgV-MGwQx037CvMQw/s1600/Masks+and+Shadows.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmXh50pf8IwEjQI26imIfQ3D10sHSJfxQPj_qVNEm61sbddKwizzpGbdS2pvd9uIqMw2rq0veF45VWIFlAuFCvLHwi1GhloEP4c2r5r2GL5NCTDaEL2wgV-MGwQx037CvMQw/s400/Masks+and+Shadows.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
Only one week left until the highly anticipated release of Stephanie Burgis's adult debut <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25893822-masks-and-shadows?from_search=true&search_version=service">Masks and Shadows</a>! Travel back to a time of grand music, dark magic, and deadly secrets...<br />
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The year is 1779, and Carlo Morelli, the most renowned castrato singer in Europe, has been invited as an honored guest to Eszterháza Palace. With Carlo in Prince Nikolaus Esterházy's carriage, ride a Prussian spy and one of the most notorious alchemists in the Habsburg Empire. Already at Eszterháza is Charlotte von Steinbeck, the very proper sister of Prince Nikolaus's mistress. Charlotte has retreated to the countryside to mourn her husband's death. Now, she must overcome the ingrained rules of her society in order to uncover the dangerous secrets lurking within the palace's golden walls. Music, magic, and blackmail mingle in a plot to assassinate the Habsburg Emperor and Empress--a plot that can only be stopped if Carlo and Charlotte can see through the masks worn by everyone they meet.<br />
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Can't wait to get your hand on a copy? Thanks to technology, you can travel back in time via Pinterest! It, uh, can't send you to the future when <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25893822-masks-and-shadows?from_search=true&search_version=service">Masks and Shadows</a> it out yet though. Sorry.<br />
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<a data-pin-board-width="400" data-pin-do="embedBoard" data-pin-scale-height="200" data-pin-scale-width="80" href="https://www.pinterest.com/pyrbooks/all-things-masks-and-shadows/"> Follow Pyr® books's board All things Masks and Shadows on Pinterest.</a><!-- Please call pinit.js only once per page --><script async="" src="//assets.pinterest.com/js/pinit.js" type="text/javascript"></script> Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-81719114201483363422016-03-07T14:45:00.002-05:002016-03-15T09:29:22.782-04:00Gats, goons, and ghosts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDbgF50EpEd3TlABmZ4ZNkv2zHCfCE7hdvBM25vuuPHvzJaqtFd8lnFV8FaostvhFggcLoQIVucwbu3runTCN3KgIAjVrXuy4nnAk0-mU3_HqlzGWc0dTP2fCzHWIoMWbiw/s1600/Black+City+Saint_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDbgF50EpEd3TlABmZ4ZNkv2zHCfCE7hdvBM25vuuPHvzJaqtFd8lnFV8FaostvhFggcLoQIVucwbu3runTCN3KgIAjVrXuy4nnAk0-mU3_HqlzGWc0dTP2fCzHWIoMWbiw/s320/Black+City+Saint_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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“Brimming with authentic vernacular and a glimpse into the world of Al Capone and his cronies, <i>Black City Saint </i>is historical fantasy at its best. From bootleggers and shadow goons to ancient enchanted swords and tommy guns, the unique combination is exhilarating. This is a fast moving tale of power, love, loss, and redemption."</div>
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—<b><i>Foreword Reviews</i></b></div>
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Get your hands on the newest book by the <i>New York Times</i>- and <i>USA Today</i>-bestselling author Richard A. Knaak, <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/BlackCitySaint.html">Black City Saint</a>! </div>
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For more than sixteen hundred years, Nick Medea has followed and guarded the Gate that keeps the mortal and Feirie realms separate, seeking absolution for the fatal errors he made when he slew the dragon. All the while, he has tried and failed to keep the woman he loves from dying over and over.</div>
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Yet for the past fifty years the Gate has, unknowingly to him, been open for the darkest Feirie-folk to enter the world of 1920s Chicago. Now, not only has an evil been resurrected from Nick’s own past, but also his lost Cleolinda, destined once more to die.</div>
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Does Nick have the strength to protect the way between realms and destroy the most vicious creature to ever walked in both worlds? </div>
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Available now!</div>
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<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/black-city-saint-richard-a-knaak/1122454917?ean=9781633881365">Barnes & Noble</a> - <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Black-City-Saint-richard-Knaak/dp/1633881369/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1446486934&sr=1-1&keywords=Black+City+Saint+++by+Richard+A.+Knaak">Amazon </a>- <a href="http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781633881365">Indiebound </a>- <a href="http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Black-City-Saint/Richard-A-Knaak/9781633881365?id=6418125304751">Books-A-Million</a></div>
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Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-48394750240841746512016-01-28T15:05:00.000-05:002016-03-15T09:29:59.614-04:00Get your hands on some ARCs!Over at Goodreads we've got giveaways up for two of our biggest books coming this Spring. Enter now before they're over!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifH5I_a0AFyLxdbl3_aTO7JItDXJOxdQc6Iz30oKxJhq0HnsOV-z1hkWj6F4ErgQkdcPIkrLSGFZlNsjlCA36LT63S9X9YmmM0FcjmpMzf6CzQRSOVSeOZ-4UxrxPUJAAInw/s1600/Black+City+Saint_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifH5I_a0AFyLxdbl3_aTO7JItDXJOxdQc6Iz30oKxJhq0HnsOV-z1hkWj6F4ErgQkdcPIkrLSGFZlNsjlCA36LT63S9X9YmmM0FcjmpMzf6CzQRSOVSeOZ-4UxrxPUJAAInw/s640/Black+City+Saint_cover.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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Chicago,1920s. For more than sixteen hundred years, Nick Medea has followed and guarded the Gate between the mortal realm and Feirie, seeking absolution for the fatal errors he made when he slew the Dragon. All that while, he has tried and failed to keep the woman he loves from dying over and over.<br />
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Yet in the fifty years since the Night the Dragon Breathed over the city of Chicago, the darkest of the Feiriefolk have been secretly trespassing through the Gate. Now, not only has an evil been resurrected from Nick’s own past, but also his lost Cleolinda, destined once more to die.<br />
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Amidst a brewing gang war between Prohibition bootleggers, Nick must protect the way between realms. If he fails, not only might Chicago face a fate worse than the Great Fire, but so will the rest of the mortal world.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/170438-black-city-saint">Enter now!</a><br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/167066-masks-and-shadows"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7wPmypWM0s-BaUffNHimSawI7f5hhxqG3uwKZs2Wk8MwvrdiwRTNmoGUQQHyGCJ6oUsGch5TwDEVpEJsyOnHVJq90ZUIc3o3Tj3RUeDvRKsGGHPlqiWkDDl0orLwJEOCRQ/s640/Masks+and+Shadows.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
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The year is 1779, and Carlo Morelli, the most renowned castrato singer in Europe, has been invited as an honored guest to Eszterháza Palace. With Carlo in Prince Nikolaus Esterházy's carriage, ride a Prussian spy and one of the most notorious alchemists in the Habsburg Empire. Already at Eszterháza is Charlotte von Steinbeck, the very proper sister of Prince Nikolaus's mistress. Charlotte has retreated to the countryside to mourn her husband's death. Now, she must overcome the ingrained rules of her society in order to uncover the dangerous secrets lurking within the palace's golden walls.<br />
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Music, magic, and blackmail mingle in a plot to assassinate the Habsburg Emperor and Empress--a plot that can only be stopped if Carlo and Charlotte can see through the masks worn by everyone they meet.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/giveaway/enter_choose_address/167066-masks-and-shadows">Enter now!</a>Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-85176744672904351492016-01-15T15:36:00.001-05:002016-01-15T15:36:17.901-05:00Start something new this weekend<span style="font-family: inherit;">Check-in time. We're almost halfway through January...have you ditched your New Year's Resolutions yet? If your resolution is to start something new, or even to save money, then you should be doubly excited to hear about this. As part of the<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/b/first-in-series-nook-books/_/N-rjn"> Barnes & Noble "First in Series"</a> promotion you can get the below series starters for only $2.99 each until Monday January 18th!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"This is space opera at its best -- simultaneously pulse-pounding and mind-expanding. [He] is the twenty-first century's master of excitement and adventure. Enjoy!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- <strong>Robert J. Sawyer</strong>, Hugo Award-winning author of <em>Red Planet Blues</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The Dead Enders are a team of military heroes who only take the most impossible missions in a galactic war between humans and an alien race. Clone a high-ranking general, infiltrate the enemy fortress, and escape without getting caught? Just another day in the office.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fortress-Orion-DEAD-ENDERS-ebook/dp/B00KUQAHAW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1415203887&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Fortress+in+Orion+by+Mike+Resnick"><img border="0" src="http://files.ctctcdn.com/fb4884e7001/1cd3e3b5-6091-4ca8-8d7f-8cb8bd46c199.png?a=1123454163629" height="39" hspace="5" name="ACCOUNT.IMAGE.799" vspace="5" width="95" /></a> <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-fortress-in-orion-mike-resnick/1118889377?ean=9781616149918"><img border="0" src="http://files.ctctcdn.com/fb4884e7001/068e4559-3165-453f-8e94-baaf1bce4376.jpg?a=1123454163629" height="26" hspace="5" name="ACCOUNT.IMAGE.800" vspace="5" width="95" /></a> <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/the-fortress-in-orion/id887134172?mt=11"><img border="0" src="http://files.ctctcdn.com/fb4884e7001/e3a643aa-bce8-47b2-912f-e5a911bd3daf.jpg?a=1123454163629" height="34" hspace="5" name="ACCOUNT.IMAGE.796" vspace="5" width="95" /></a> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"<em>Sword of the Bright Lady</em> is an exciting new take on the modern-man-meets-magic conflict -- it's a how-to guide for surviving in a world of gods and monsters."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- <strong>Dave Gross</strong>, author of<i> Prince of Wolves</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Christopher Sinclair, a contemporary man from Earth, will overthrow the entire social and political system of a fantasy world he accidentally entered in order to return home to his wife. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"Peopled with compelling characters, filled with action and intrigue, set in a fascinating world at the boundary between history and legend, <em>Grudgebearer</em> is a gripping and ultimately satisfying novel. Highly recommended."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">- <strong>D. B. Jackson</strong>, author of the Thieftaker Chronicles</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The leader of a warrior race works with his daughter to</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> overcome their people's enslaved past and secure their future in a struggle against their creators, the enemy they were bred to battle, the oaths they have sworn, and the gods themselves.<br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: normal;"><span style="color: black; font-size: normal;"><a class="imgCaptionAnchor" href="http://www.amazon.com/Grudgebearer-GRUDGEBEARER-TRILOGY-J-F-Lewis-ebook/dp/B00IW4DP1C/ref=sr_1_1_twi_kin_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452627391&sr=1-1&keywords=grudgebearer" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" target="_blank" track="on"><img border="0" src="http://files.ctctcdn.com/fb4884e7001/1cd3e3b5-6091-4ca8-8d7f-8cb8bd46c199.png?a=1123454163629" height="39" hspace="5" name="ACCOUNT.IMAGE.799" vspace="5" width="95" /></a> <a class="imgCaptionAnchor" href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/grudgebearer-jf-lewis/1117737119?ean=9781616149857" rel="nofollow" shape="rect" target="_blank" track="on"><img border="0" src="http://files.ctctcdn.com/fb4884e7001/068e4559-3165-453f-8e94-baaf1bce4376.jpg?a=1123454163629" height="26" hspace="5" name="ACCOUNT.IMAGE.800" vspace="5" width="95" /></a> </span><a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/grudgebearer/id837558272?mt=11"><img border="0" class="cc-image-resize" src="http://files.ctctcdn.com/fb4884e7001/e3a643aa-bce8-47b2-912f-e5a911bd3daf.jpg?a=1123454163629" height="34" hspace="5" name="ACCOUNT.IMAGE.796" vspace="5" width="95" /></a> </span></div>
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Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-67486388268519873632015-12-18T10:56:00.000-05:002015-12-18T10:56:10.325-05:00#Season'sGreetingsEveryone knows who's coming down our chimneys next week. If you plan on starting your shopping this weekend―well, good luck. Even if you started shopping before the bird was on the table last month, there are always a few people who seem impossible to shop for (or who you forgot!) So to cover all your last-minute gifting needs, here are some ideas for the readers on your list:<br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><b>Action, adventure, and humanity against the world</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><b>A fresh take on the vampire legends </b></span></div>
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<td><<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXALCtAfAg81D9fD8-jz-v9onNnFrgb3KSQ4TqxTo99rP9mQP5YOiNNK0DDbF4k3eKmTzXFU4RsJ_jXG-MEjS3y5OFGtMJqgtiMJQzmyHejd4_4lwWQsM-W-Olmze73WI8aQ/s1600/Greyfriar+Front+COVER+REPRINT.jpg" width="160" /></td><td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4e6CfMH3nO51fdtZ4wL1nOrn9xIiC6wQL5CRpazB9fh_CmbYCqwCWodVsynCOUC2CkEnBR-OzELQVUZlN9QmwZcpyEW7Ev_zn-GmQ6-HYz88APUCThPmW8TzjAl9gu906GA/s1600/Rift+Walker.jpg" width="160" /></td><td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zF0fAgBQIGJg6kW16Wfi5lZB42ITyE-QFBADWq9we0h6Bxsp9bFUPftSkhMaJDzSQiypWeeGxinqvuPKCHOkU7HFlUqZETwG08DQKhDlf5KOFWZfXUharvjgsJBW11MPzg/s1600/Kingmakers.jpg" width="160" /></td></tr>
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<strong style="color: #b45f06;"><span style="font-size: large;">How about some fantasy on an epic level?</span></strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIb1zYXQg0jzjFx4K6GdJFo7cBwJ4hfxPRX0HfeEaxqeMMAmWFORzZc0Rmdw9ET9oeM_oc__v_LROujANbK1fbklmFme9mBpHqnyIGx3KD5JrlaQnlOUJh7Vbo9pgYXRISQ/s1600/Blood+and+Iron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimIb1zYXQg0jzjFx4K6GdJFo7cBwJ4hfxPRX0HfeEaxqeMMAmWFORzZc0Rmdw9ET9oeM_oc__v_LROujANbK1fbklmFme9mBpHqnyIGx3KD5JrlaQnlOUJh7Vbo9pgYXRISQ/s320/Blood+and+Iron.jpg" width="212" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQ7fuh1m1XsaUf7L_C8rpPuWNAIrfvTb7lTrRkaHCCL4YLGI6nDdLyA21kyMOyOsj1qZkH4LR3-0TH37njX0VDEldYR9TJPq807UDRauye0QNU2eIlRiAgPJHsbvN9fgMdQ/s1600/Storm+and+Steel_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBQ7fuh1m1XsaUf7L_C8rpPuWNAIrfvTb7lTrRkaHCCL4YLGI6nDdLyA21kyMOyOsj1qZkH4LR3-0TH37njX0VDEldYR9TJPq807UDRauye0QNU2eIlRiAgPJHsbvN9fgMdQ/s320/Storm+and+Steel_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><b>We're talking dragons and killer dwarves</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Di7C4PJqPRSr_L87FKprP7uQ2PJHC1AD7-OIT9vprNwQiM0KWYZK_I1v0yWgCKFUD23cD2I4fvAtW8zoShCEIYN4Oy80k-Ij7BsUgaFDC9YklVD7UUIIv6taiI7cDH56JQ/s1600/Chart+of+Tomorrows_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Di7C4PJqPRSr_L87FKprP7uQ2PJHC1AD7-OIT9vprNwQiM0KWYZK_I1v0yWgCKFUD23cD2I4fvAtW8zoShCEIYN4Oy80k-Ij7BsUgaFDC9YklVD7UUIIv6taiI7cDH56JQ/s320/Chart+of+Tomorrows_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjfWiSIE-a4XTQ2AzHuPHx3bNxR1tGTHqAggj3LnJMIsf0xdVJD5pZ9a4IfBQqDpkl_2dRWBj17qf09lvR4CL-YvseU_3zMFVgt1dfmpg442J2SPdNbGDAxVA-7vVycjbvVQ/s1600/Oathkeeper_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjfWiSIE-a4XTQ2AzHuPHx3bNxR1tGTHqAggj3LnJMIsf0xdVJD5pZ9a4IfBQqDpkl_2dRWBj17qf09lvR4CL-YvseU_3zMFVgt1dfmpg442J2SPdNbGDAxVA-7vVycjbvVQ/s320/Oathkeeper_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><b>Thrillers with a quantum physics twist</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHOi-rG-VBhBO7fweEmfCkxaTRKwVjdoToSDqDQvaYvOxQzulcPN1wYvbGIbJi8WBGXpLfgag8jXGc8FUXoxC4-h6hemm1q_MfhxzLxFPCp3j1jsshIyyfjEb9r7wp8aGrg/s1600/Superposition_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDHOi-rG-VBhBO7fweEmfCkxaTRKwVjdoToSDqDQvaYvOxQzulcPN1wYvbGIbJi8WBGXpLfgag8jXGc8FUXoxC4-h6hemm1q_MfhxzLxFPCp3j1jsshIyyfjEb9r7wp8aGrg/s320/Superposition_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc252InfYotaXfuOKT_hHa2XL2HQ2Pm7Ol_jjgmS5IAg9byVEt10LpiIbRBJPh8b1a5UhzGkJtx-Q29RwWXuCyILoUUIIpBqkZdfIdcEE_65j7UUISHXIDzBBnQBzt3lGctw/s1600/Supersymmetrey_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc252InfYotaXfuOKT_hHa2XL2HQ2Pm7Ol_jjgmS5IAg9byVEt10LpiIbRBJPh8b1a5UhzGkJtx-Q29RwWXuCyILoUUIIpBqkZdfIdcEE_65j7UUISHXIDzBBnQBzt3lGctw/s320/Supersymmetrey_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #b45f06;">Gimme the science fiction, but take it out of this world</span> </b></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=27426598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=27426598" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyt-TwYMU87DsNJWQWd9R2D8_mdc5Y7HKHPGgTy3YBzgSRCzOmeuSo41m0ZXSiYjkuQ0r8sGiN1ZfZsjupX6UJrafMhJbWpYoHT_5_G0kvq2UBnOKeS_-7zJ-Y6SxcKKP8xQ/s1600/Edge+of+Dark_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyt-TwYMU87DsNJWQWd9R2D8_mdc5Y7HKHPGgTy3YBzgSRCzOmeuSo41m0ZXSiYjkuQ0r8sGiN1ZfZsjupX6UJrafMhJbWpYoHT_5_G0kvq2UBnOKeS_-7zJ-Y6SxcKKP8xQ/s320/Edge+of+Dark_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcpz21-UiJpNaOgvuBkpBO-ILUl8vDxU8Mk82m7H1e4OoclnZ4HnFTGXvajdPVjw4OOtC4kat2QWlXuWZhUjm5mbyRPmIDACJIICN7LZMPOCkqmd5LCTHa_S5KH_A8ZMH8A/s1600/Fortress+in+Orion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcpz21-UiJpNaOgvuBkpBO-ILUl8vDxU8Mk82m7H1e4OoclnZ4HnFTGXvajdPVjw4OOtC4kat2QWlXuWZhUjm5mbyRPmIDACJIICN7LZMPOCkqmd5LCTHa_S5KH_A8ZMH8A/s320/Fortress+in+Orion.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><b>BONUS! Be their favorite aunt or uncle and get the entire series</b></span></div>
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<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR9a2XZVar_TJd4FMUxKlDiomYQVt1pifXbmhjJKb6YdjOAxyxv2Qv-FyJUPjgXlil37abUwbL_Ys2be7DrAKzOyHmt_DiAAUu3u7CzjWphsxJ7GhzNLDb4w-lq4815r4_Aw/s1600/Earth+Girl_cover.jpg" width="160" /></td>
<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6UcfOIWq3Hc5U8Lrj2AYQIYGu8thsISPObMJ0ruYGLYaLgWNPtty5hqrdOY5r1nBTgChwgwYGbiEwY1zm2ceiCZGUqXN9CRB-3eXgd-8N8QP9fO9mO4jy80dMK8x6GshGwg/s320/Earth+Star_Cover.jpg" td="" width="160" /></td>
<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF03_iagDCCJXBTA2USol_Six1LXY7zMJREtIK47npof2FX6K8eWdSR93a_9cOYMmtb9f3ZEXYlFQcwFEDALY2KqMv1Tt52A4iEhEeOX4zGR5eMV9XzlwGOYsxAVaxsMeBRw/s1600/Earth+Flight_cover.jpg" width="160" /></td>
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<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHF6IGLfoXlxUSbNhk14pcvix_b-3g8ZQBFV-RkKYiIRloI3iAw0C6SPAvGWn2EPepuJLIh5OvvASeGeJy0xdzQVEJvQY4aL5oNGZx1x1lQ2Hwk0xiN7xr18IcpXILVpbcQ/s1600/operation+shield_cover.jpg" width="160" /></td>
<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvsXl0xEzFYBLe8QVdl5Hs-lmXzkJMDEiL3_2tEhaH_0h4k7Q3phQrV6BFzcrmnE6_ynQZeUijQ-WCkJqyCJq9T8_Nj6zbxCJMQZ5s5YhbBW4pBWbMEIDLzp79OMLlgy6iUQ/s1600/ORIGINATOR_cover.jpg" width="160" /></td>
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<span style="color: #b45f06; font-size: large;"><b>When all else fails, settle for a bit of everything</b></span></div>
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Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-44577845460685662482015-11-13T15:32:00.001-05:002015-11-13T15:32:49.482-05:00Want to put your love to the test? The Buzzfeed test, that is. <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/TheGeomancer.html" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkANdx8IYR5Pi16aNziaDTbZeiaDsrB_PPVoXMSpPAIAt1AKImxOk8oJz5Xf8rEeOIlXgKD6aoKGiF2PKiD05im_CBx4Jiuk34gi9QiSx9_oDhThbnQr0kMjH_F8nl9nwGCA/s320/Geomancer_cover.jpg" width="213" /></a>Yeah ok so we all know Adele and Gareth are an amazing couple, and if you didn't already then...surprise! And just when our hearts were finally healing after being separated so long, Clay and Susan brought back the deadly duo in the newest Vampire Empire book <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/TheGeomancer.html">The Geomancer</a>!<br />
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Are you and yours like Adele and Gareth? Or are you a bit more at odds like, say, Katniss and Peeta? Are you ready to test your love? Well it's not that kind of test, exactly. It's less intense than a test, makes up much less of your GPA, so let's call it a quiz.<br />
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Want to know which crossed couple best matches your relationship?<br />
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<b>Take the <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/prometheusbooks/which-star-crossed-couple-matches-your-relationshi-1po55">Buzzfeed Quiz</a> now!</b><br />
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<br />Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-10208165167632946152015-10-29T11:58:00.000-04:002015-10-29T11:58:04.636-04:00Gold Throne in Shadow by M. C. PlanckIf you read epic fantasy, you know the tropes can get a little bit stale. We admit, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being in the mood for a good, old-fashioned, sword-filled journey to find the thing that will save mankind. But every once in a while you just need someone to shake it up a bit.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-92x2R1r1Y_q0ohh4CmqVOuBfOE2IKlsGBb86Xoxfedmxp-gfLdthiC8_-W7EmPYuhjqMvYKes03CT32lPwr3RfI4hPFjpxk92k-K3y-Whpdlv1P23-VhC-AhuOxJiOjPg/s1600/Sword+of+Bright+Lady_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-92x2R1r1Y_q0ohh4CmqVOuBfOE2IKlsGBb86Xoxfedmxp-gfLdthiC8_-W7EmPYuhjqMvYKes03CT32lPwr3RfI4hPFjpxk92k-K3y-Whpdlv1P23-VhC-AhuOxJiOjPg/s320/Sword+of+Bright+Lady_cover.jpg" width="212" /></a><br />
Take M. C. Planck's World of Prime books. In <i><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/swordofthebrightlady.html">Sword of the Bright Lady</a>,</i> Christopher Sinclair goes out for a walk on a mild Arizona evening and never comes back. He stumbles into a freezing winter under an impossible night sky, where magic is real—but bought at a terrible price. To win enough power to open a path home, this mild-mannered mechanical engineer must survive duelists, assassins, and the never-ending threat of monsters, with only his makeshift technology to compete with swords and magic.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdfOJZK57R8jjdZ9j_Co3HTDGd4C-_rVMNd8GN1Iho9yfIrFX0nHRse3D17CfB75obvxAu7uIKsRavAaZh9eLvsmYybl3IgCRC65DBQ88RvefriM6FhFFyY5MFHuVFRXr8aw/s1600/Gold+Throne_Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdfOJZK57R8jjdZ9j_Co3HTDGd4C-_rVMNd8GN1Iho9yfIrFX0nHRse3D17CfB75obvxAu7uIKsRavAaZh9eLvsmYybl3IgCRC65DBQ88RvefriM6FhFFyY5MFHuVFRXr8aw/s400/Gold+Throne_Cover.jpg" width="266" /></a><br />
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Planck infuses his world with the life and death rules of your favorite RPG. Kill your enemies, take their power, and move up the ranks until you win. In this month's newly released <i><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/goldthroneinshadow.html">Gold Throne in Shadow</a></i>, Sinclair has just used one of his lives to rise from the dead. Finding his way back home may not be nearly as easy as he once hoped when he discovers the true enemy: an invisible, mind-eating horror who plays the kingdom like a puppet-master’s stage.<br />
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Plus the cover of <i>Gold Throne in Shadow</i> reminds me of fall. So what if the world is actually on fire? The oranges and yellows match the view out my window and I DON'T CARE.<br />
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<i>Gold Throne in Shadow </i>is available now.<div>
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<td><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gold-Throne-Shadow-WORLD-PRIME/dp/1633880966/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1433427013&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=Gold+Throne+in+Shadow++World+of+Prime+Book+Two++M.+C.+Planck"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0UFqYUBjq05EBK-Sy4wiCNzOs7t4vP2h5jETv7BJrpQI0_z-9e1KwRMN0p6OY9AtrmJ7Dy9T2OwBgWjQEC7Em5Gq2c4_x77Yze-4DJ8gNqPxE1HrPQ7G8iioZvW_MKxTnQ/s200/Amazon+image.png" width="115" /></a></div>
</td>
<td><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/gold-throne-in-shadow-mc-planck/1121090529?ean=9781633880962"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWCugcFLUs8X3NHc3EN6V9WJDlNvb8au0k3gmOljrkYW7Jt83ZHlWR_DU-zWP4RsTypsH0hyphenhyphennPNl5yqzZQRfsPSiPiD_aniD5dmC3MXcLftLlnOGgD_53laJA4QHF339KXw/s1600/B%2526N.jpg" width="115" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Gold-Throne-Shadow/M-C-Planck/9781633880962?id=5649160808690"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoOS_CZqGUxA-wwycBzU8BNwueaumq2WAakUjqYtAlIj5TW_U25QIamwFhEuSaL-8zkzvntoxSDwEjYiCEZBbIu2uJ-GfXe4b822VY2rnfJJRPvtkrSOl9_zGYfA1OlwgCPg/s1600/BAM.jpg" width="115" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.indiebound.org/book/9781633880962"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWU4_o3-eCMZzDX-jeSxw9lso7VQ2C4tKUxjK_hyphenhyphenktStPndWv9FLw5P0o5kinTF7Qti3jMEtk87jUSV9MnlfgAxoKMYpkD7ehSQeSwU4TP9ov4Npp25OW_Dis3eX435kFnnw/s1600/indiebound.jpg" width="115" /></a></td>
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</tbody></table>
</div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-26096087084906253062015-10-06T15:56:00.001-04:002015-10-06T15:56:57.863-04:00Rising Tide is out today!<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1AtvGJMHB42BQ8vSH-ViqDmYeLsIZsQfcRmG5Q7uiumgO_Oi00KhJCttmqwvYyVFQM7TaPVB-fUZ8MZlmV6_N7fOOlxMpsEniS0xcdxSiD3QkTX7HibzXr7rTqWADwyKjw/s1600/Rising+Tide_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1AtvGJMHB42BQ8vSH-ViqDmYeLsIZsQfcRmG5Q7uiumgO_Oi00KhJCttmqwvYyVFQM7TaPVB-fUZ8MZlmV6_N7fOOlxMpsEniS0xcdxSiD3QkTX7HibzXr7rTqWADwyKjw/s400/Rising+Tide_cover.jpg" width="266" /></span></a>“A cool world with steampunk and zombies combined. . . . The voice is very real and gritty and I felt immersed in the world. Abercombie-edgy and a quick read at that.”</div>
--<i><b>Felicia Day</b></i><br />
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“<i>Falling Sky</i> grabbed me right away and held me to the last sentence. . . . [It’s] like Hemingway meets <i>The Walking Dead</i>.”<br />
--<i><b>Tad Williams</b></i><br />
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Rajan Khanna is back this month (today, actually) with his latest action packed adventure <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/risingtide.html">Rising Tide</a>. Ben Gold sacrificed his ship in an effort to prevent pirates from attacking the hidden island city of Tamoanchan. Now Malik, an old friend turned enemy, has captured Ben and Miranda, the scientist Ben loves. With Miranda held hostage, Ben has to do Malik’s dirty work.<br />
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Miranda has plans of her own, though. She has developed a test for the virus that two generations ago turned most of the population into little more than beasts called Ferals. She needs Ben’s help to rescue a group of her colleagues to perfect the test—but first they must rescue themselves.<br />
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Check out the first chapter excerpt below to dive (pun totally intended. You'll see.) into this post-apocalyptic world!<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; vertical-align: baseline;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow', sans-serif; font-size: 25pt; letter-spacing: 2.5pt;">CHAPTER ONE<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div align="right" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right; vertical-align: baseline;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Arial Narrow', sans-serif; letter-spacing: 2.5pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">T</span></b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">he lights come and wake me from
dying.</span><b><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">At
least I must be dying because I’m wet and cold and bleeding and everything
seems broken inside of me. All around me I can smell smoke and burning gas and
the sea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Inside
of me, a voice insists that there’s something next to me. Something good.
Something to save me. But when I try to turn, everything goes black again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Death hovers, close by.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">The lights bring me back, dancing over me with a roaring
hum. I remember stories I read when I was a kid, stories of angels—bright,
blinding, flying angels. Have they finally come for me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Some moments pass, my head spinning,
and then they’re lifting me up, out of the raft, and into the sky. <i>Where are you taking me? </i>I want to ask.
But I can’t. And something about leaving the ocean, going up into the sky,
feels right.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">More time passes—hands touching me that I can’t shrug
off. I slip away once or twice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">When I awake again, I hear someone saying to take me to
the infirmary. It’s apt because I’m very fucking infirm. Anyone would be after
the last few days I’ve had. Beaten, shot, strung out on painkillers, beaten
again, stabbed, then dropped from an exploding airship into cold ocean waters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Well, when I say <i>dropped</i>,
I mean more like I jumped. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Thinking about that makes me think of the <i>Cherub</i>, my airship, which was named
after angels, and the last time I saw her, ripping apart into a bright fireball
as I fell. It brings on pain of a different flavor. She was more than just my
home—she was my safety, my security, my freedom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Miranda,” I manage to gasp. She’s
the other woman in my life. Or rather, the one who’s left. She fell with me,
into the ocean. We somehow both managed </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">to survive, huddled in the bottom of
a life raft, clinging to one another, wet and </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">cold, our ears still ringing from the
explosion, flames still dotting the water</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">where the fiery wreckage fell.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">We lay there, together, and I
couldn’t even think. All I did was hold Miranda </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">and take comfort in the fact that
we were alive and together and she was solid in </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">my arms. Later, I thought that if we
managed to make it through the night into </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">the morning, that we might have a shot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">She was what was next to me, I
remember. She’s what I was trying to find.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Miranda,” I repeat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Who?” a voice asks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“That’s her name,” another voice
replies. “The woman.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Where is she?” I ask. “Is she
okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“She’ll be back soon,” one of the
voices says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">I reach up for the arms nearest me,
grip them as hard as I can. “No,” I say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;">“I need to know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Then my grip wavers and my arms go watery and the person
pulls away <span style="letter-spacing: -.1pt;">from my grasp. “Give him another
one,” a voice says.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Then I feel a sharp pinch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">And the world draws away around me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;"> * * *</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 108.35pt; margin-right: 109.1pt; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">I’m below the ocean, only this time it’s warm and thick,
not the shocking, freezing thing it was after I fell. It’s comfortable. Almost
welcoming. I find this amusing since I have always preferred the sky. But
slowly I feel myself start to rise and the air gets thinner and brighter, and
then I’m opening my eyes to . . . light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I smell metal and the sea and antiseptic. As my vision
clears, I realize I’m lying on a table—cold metal, but with some kind of tarp
draped over it. I’m not wearing a shirt, and my wounds have been bandaged. I
ache, but the pain is dulled, lost in the wake of the painkillers I’ve
apparently been given.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">A woman wearing a surgical mask
sees me stir, then leaves the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">As I sit up, feeling the skin
pulling on my wounds, and grunting because of it, the door opens again and a
man enters what I now realize is the infirmary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">The
metal tables and the counters and instruments all paint the picture. But my
attention is drawn to the man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">Malik.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He’s looking better than he was the last time I saw him.
His skin is tanned by the sun to a light-brown color. He’s wearing his black
hair long and he has an extremely neatly trimmed beard, which is a nice trick,
seeing as how most of the tools for that kind of thing have long since turned
to shit. He stands at the edge of my table and eyes me up and down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Mal,” I
say, suddenly on edge. “You’re alive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Benjamin,” he says, like he just picked a bullet out of
his teeth. “As sharp as ever.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“My God,” I say. “I had no idea.” I feel something hard
lodge in my chest. “Thank you for patching me up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .1in; text-indent: .15in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He shakes his
head. Like everything he does, it’s a precise movement, no wasted energy. “That
wasn’t me. That was courtesy of your companion.” “Miranda?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">He nods.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“How is she? Where is she? I need to see her.” I start to
get up off the table, but he pushes me back, firmly and precisely, and my chest
erupts into a constellation of pain despite the drugs I’m on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“You don’t get to make demands,” he says, and I see his
carefully cultivated mask slip for a moment. What’s behind is rage. And I know
exactly why. Mal and I go way back, and our last meeting didn’t end so well.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He straightens and examines his gloves. “Miranda is safe
and unharmed, Benjamin. That will have to suffice for now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">My mind races, then falls back into
an old, familiar pattern of movement. Even through the painkillers it’s a place
I’m used to—assess, look for opportunities, survive. It’s clear that Mal isn’t
happy with me, and I’m not sure I blame him. But he still pulled me out of the
ocean. Still let Miranda patch me up. So I’m on unsteady ground. I don’t know
what he wants. And so I can’t use that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“What happened to you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He knows what I’m asking. How did he survive? What
happened after I saw him last?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He looks away for a moment. “Pardon me if I don’t feel
like digging up ancient history,” he says. “I have no wish to reminisce about
old times.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“I get that you’re mad at me—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Mal slams his fist down on the edge of the table and I
jump, again feeling the pain ripple through me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Mad? Mad?” He shakes his head, his face twisted with
disgust. “You continue to underestimate me, Benjamin.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I take a deep breath. “So why am I here? You didn’t need
to fish me out of the water.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Mal takes a deep breath, too, smoothing his long hair
back from his face where it had fallen. He straightens his jacket. His face
returns to its impassive state. “My people saw the wreckage in the water. Fresh
wreckage.” He shrugs. “Old habits. They were checking for salvage . . . and
information.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“What kind of information?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“What do you think, Benjamin? You’re telling me that if
you saw that kind of fallout, it wouldn’t attract your attention? We’re
operating in these waters. Knowing what’s happening around us is only prudent.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I try to process all of this, and it’s hard with the
painkillers dragging on my thoughts. <i>C’mon,
Ben. Get it together</i>. I return to the phrase “we’re operating in these
waters.” Could Mal be working with Gastown?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">I look back up at him to see him
examining my face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Are you working with Gastown?” I ask. It isn’t subtle,
and it’s not what I had planned to say (as far as I planned anything) but it
just spills out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He squints, then shakes his head. “No. Neither in its
former nor current incarnations.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">That’s how Mal likes to speak. Never a simple word when a
more ornate one will do. In that way he’s a little like Miranda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I nod. “Those were Gastown ships in the water. Them and
the <i>Cherub</i>.” I feel a pain when I
mention my airship. I’ve heard tell of people having phantom pains in lost
limbs. Could you have that for an airship?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“I know this already,” Mal says.
“Your companion told me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I frown. “You still haven’t told me why I’m here, then.
If Miranda told you what happened, you could have dropped me back in the
ocean.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: .35in; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“I thought of it,” he says with a
smile. “Believe me, I thought of it.” “But?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“I wanted you to see me. I wanted you to know that I
survived.” He waves a hand in the air, nonchalantly. “I have no illusions that
it will provoke a response, but I needed you to know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I nod. It’s classic Mal. His ego has always been one of
his most developed attributes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“So now
that I know, now you toss me in the ocean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">His face
goes serious. “No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">“No?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">“No. Your
companion and I—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Miranda.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“. . .
Miranda and I came to an agreement.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">My head is still swimming, and none of this is making
sense. Mal is alive. And wants to kill me. Yet </span><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I’m </span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">still alive. And he made a deal
with Miranda?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“We always have need for people with medical training,”
he says. He shrugs. “She made her skills known to me. But . . .” He pauses for
a moment. “She’s quite shrewd. She insisted that she demonstrate her skills. On
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">It’s such a nice piece of negotiation that I can’t help
smiling. It’s the kind of thing I usually try to do—identify a need, make
myself useful, benefit. She not only secured a safe space for herself, but she
saved me in the process.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“All I can say is that you’re very lucky,” Mal says. “None
of my people would have worked on you. Not in your state. Not without
quarantine. And you probably would have died, otherwise. I locked her in here
with you, with some medical supplies, and she worked on you through the
quarantine period. That you’re alive, and awake, is a testament to her
abilities.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;">“She’s one
of the best.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He nods. “That, we can agree on. How she chose to
associate with you . . .” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“People change, Mal.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">The look he gives me sends chills
through me. It’s like being in a room with a wild animal—a wolf or a cougar.
Mal clearly hates me. He has lots of reason to, I’ll admit, but he also has all
the power here. I keep trying to kick my brain out of the painkiller fuzz, but
it’s slow going, all uphill, and gravity’s pulling at </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">me. Miranda had been thinking
quickly, making herself useful, saving me. Now I have to do my part. “Mal, I—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He quiets me by holding up his hand. “Please don’t,
Benjamin. I can see the achingly slow grinding of your mind’s gears. You’re
going to try to give me reasons not to kill you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Damn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“The thing is, Benjamin, I had a plan; one I thought
poetic. I would leave you in the ocean, all alone, with no wings to carry you.
With no friends to aid you. Leave you in the great vastness and just . . . sail
away. I could take odds on what would get you first—a shark? some other ship?
drowning?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">The thought
scares me more than I ever imagined it could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“But I’m
not.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Mal rubs at a spot on his left glove. “That was the other
part of my agreement with Miranda. Her terms were that she get to demonstrate
her skills on you, and . . . that I keep you alive until we reach our
destination.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Thank God</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">, I think.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">He must see the relief on my face
because he says, “What I promised her, exactly, was that I would keep you on
the ship. And that I wouldn’t take any action to harm you. And so I won’t.
Because it doesn’t matter.” He smiles at me. “Once we arrive, however, I will
have my moment. Believe me when I say that I’ve been imagining all the many
things I might do with you at that point.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Another scary feeling, this time one that sticks like a
rock in my gut. Just then, my mind clears a bit more and I realize what he just
said and that the rocking sensation I’m feeling isn’t completely from the
drugs. “Did you say ‘ship’?” It’s not an airship—I would know if it was. “Are
we on the water?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Your speed is as remarkable as
always,” Mal says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Cut me a
little slack,” I say. “I’ve had a lot of painkillers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“I am aware,” he says, glaring at me. He sighs. “Yes, you
are on board a ship right now. A warship. She’s called the <i>Phoenix</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">“You stole
her?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">He looks at
me, sharp, assessing. Like a bird. “I recovered her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Of course you did</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">, I think.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“She was secured in a naval
facility. My people and I liberated her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">It’s a score, of course. Military
targets have long been a flame the foraging moths have flown to over the years,
but as a result the pickings are slim. Even if you do find something intact
worth taking, the effort of getting it operational, being able to run it, is
often too much. There are plenty of rotting old hulks in naval yards and off
the coast. That he found one and managed to get it to work. . . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“It took years to get it running,” he says. “Time during
which my people were vulnerable.” He smiles. “But in the end we were
triumphant.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: 0.05pt;">Jesus</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: 0.05pt;">, I think. <i>A warship. In Mal’s hands</i>.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“The weapons?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">His smile grows wider. “Almost completely operational.
That was one of the most difficult parts. She was partly stocked, but making
sure everything worked and was loaded properly took some time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“I don’t believe it,” I say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">His smile is predatory and triumphant. “That is because
you have no imagination. We achieved a great victory, here, my people and I.
And it will be our salvation.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">The word makes me uneasy.
Especially in the Sick. “So you live here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">He nods. “In some ways, the ocean is
safer than the sky.” I find the words distasteful, but they make me think of
Tamoanchan, an island settlement I recently visited. I think of Diego and
Rosie, Sergei, even Clay. All the people Miranda and I left behind. I thought
that sacrificing the <i>Cherub </i>might
have saved them from attack, but that didn’t mean more wouldn’t be coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">I needed off this ship.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Where are you sailing it?” I ask.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Hawaii.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">A legend of sorts. I’ve met people
who determined to go there, lured by the promise of old magazines and books.
“You know it’s overrun with Ferals, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He shrugs. “That’s the rumor. But it’s a series of
islands. And by now the Ferals should have dwindled, equalized to a stable
number. We can take our time to clean them out. And if the idea of it keeps
others away, then all the better. If their maps already say, ‘Here there be
monsters,’ then why disabuse them of that notion?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I shake my head. “That’s the life you’re going to lead?
Doesn’t seem suited to someone like you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Things
change,” is all he says.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">I chew on it for a bit. Mal was on
his way to a leadership position the first time I met him, but he seems to have
taken it quite seriously. Seriously enough to risk his life on a dream. Miranda
bought me some time. But then what? Even if he doesn’t kill me right away,
we’ll be stuck there. With no way of getting off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Things do change,” I say. “Let me
prove it to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Mal laughs.
“You?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I can’t help frowning at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: .05in; margin-top: 0in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Oh, Benjamin. I see what you
mean. You’ve developed a sense of humor.” “Mal—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“No.” The word is as hard and cold
as stone. “I don’t care if you’ve changed. If you can grow wings or if you shit
out my heart’s desire on command. I have you. And I’m taking you with us until
I can deal with you in the appropriate way.” He leans forward. “Do you get
that? You are mine.” He turns to leave. “Meditate on that on our journey.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Then he
leaves me to my solitude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * *</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">They
move me to something more resembling a cell shortly later, something that was
probably a bunk back in the Clean. There’s a simple bed, a sink, and a toilet.
I suppose it could be worse. I could have to shit on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">They feed me, too. Scraps and slop, but it’s something. I
guess Mal’s sticking to his promise to Miranda. I can imagine him rationalizing
it, too. Telling himself he’ll punish me at a time and place of his choosing.
He has an overdeveloped sense of honor. Something tells me that Miranda picked
up on that and used it against him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Thinking of Miranda sends a pang through me—not knowing
where she is, or how she is. What she’s doing. How Mal’s treating her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">There’s no way that he’s going to
let her see me. That will be off-limits, even if she wants to, but. . . . But
there’s this strange, nagging voice inside my head </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">that says maybe she doesn’t want
to see me. I don’t think it makes sense, but it still pipes up from time to
time. I keep trying to stamp it down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">And this is the problem with being stuck with no one but
yourself. With no books or music or people to talk to. You start having crazy
thoughts. In one of these, Mal charms Miranda and, well, let’s just say she
responds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I’m definitely going to go crazy in here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Of course I search my cell for
means of escape but, well, there doesn’t seem to be any. The door to the room
is locked from the outside, and there are no windows or other openings inside.
There is the toilet, but judging by its dimensions, the hole beneath it would
be too small for me to squeeze through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">Just one
book</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">, I think. <i>One
book. </i>It wouldn’t even matter which one. Once, when I was holed up in an
old house that just happened to sit next to a Feral nest, I read the same book
four times. In a row. And it was about rabbits. Another time, when Dad had
dropped me off on a rooftop, circling around to pick me up later (and got
delayed), I read the same romance novel twice, the second time acting out all
the parts. I sometimes go to great lengths to pass the time.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">A short time later, my food arrives.
Those scraps and slop. It’s skins and rinds and cores, cartilage and bone. The
vegetables are just shy of rotting, the fish is too soft and has a smell that
almost makes me gag. Something that was once leafy and green is now a muddy
smear. Yet I open my mouth and shovel as much as I can in. Because I need to
eat, and I’m hungry. I need to heal. That I don’t enjoy it doesn’t really come
into it. Much. It helps that I’ve been on my own and hungry for much of my
adult life. I’ve eaten all kinds of things out of desperation. This is
tolerable at its worst. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Especially every time I start to gag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I start marking the days on my mattress, scoring lines
into the fabric covering. One. Two. Three.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">I start talking to myself. Except that quickly that loses
all appeal. I’m a terrible conversationalist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">So I start thinking about the old days. About the last
time I saw Mal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">It wasn’t a good time.</span><br /><br /><br />
<div style="font-family: Garamond, serif; text-align: center;">
<span style="letter-spacing: -0.0666667px;">______________________________________________________</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.0666667px;"><br /></span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.0666667px;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you haven't already, don't forget to pick up a copy of the first book, <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/fallingsky.html">Falling Sky</a></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-7835444820263872722015-09-30T15:45:00.005-04:002015-09-30T15:45:55.566-04:00Read an excerpt from Supersymmetry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
If you like a little more science in your fiction and a little more action with your plot, and somehow you <i>haven't</i> tried David Walton's latest thrillers then you're really, really missing out! The love has been rolling in for his newest release <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/Supersymmetry.html">Supersymmetry</a>. Check out the first chapter excerpt below to see what all the fuss is about.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfetiSTF1s0UFlstlkjtN55R_z1tczwb1pxOy-ntzlW3SPOFfsCdqHzzsaGX2R8P6XrhVhaUkoJHqLNrKJCqeogFjzLmZkmNAgsqFEisJM4JIrHA93P30f03t4CSCl-DJmg/s1600/Supersymmetrey_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfetiSTF1s0UFlstlkjtN55R_z1tczwb1pxOy-ntzlW3SPOFfsCdqHzzsaGX2R8P6XrhVhaUkoJHqLNrKJCqeogFjzLmZkmNAgsqFEisJM4JIrHA93P30f03t4CSCl-DJmg/s400/Supersymmetrey_cover.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
“Fast-paced, mind-bending, super-scientific yet fully accessible and very understandable to the layman reader. Full of new possibilities and probabilities, Supersymmetry gives readers a peek into what the future may hold and the cost that comes with it. This is a science fiction novel full of humanity and all its inherent beauty and ugliness. FANTASTIC - KEEPER”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-<b><i>RT Book Reviews</i></b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
“With a confident, deft touch...David Walton explores concepts of quantum physics while expertly weaving the narrative perspectives of two young women.... An engaging science fiction novel about an ultra-dimensional intelligence bent on destroying reality.”</div>
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-<i><b>Shelf Awareness for Readers</b></i></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
“Propelled by high-speed action and digestible science that makes you feel smarter just by reading about it, <i>Supersymmetry </i>is among the best in near-future science fiction.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-<i style="font-weight: bold;">Omnivoracious</i></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
“A high-octane, high-tech romp through time and space, with lots of family drama and complex characters to root for…. Fast paced, with cool futuristic science and complex characters and relationships, this is must-read series for science fiction fans.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
-<i><b>Books, Bones, and Buffy</b></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“A story with cool science and a good heart. All in all, I was completely entertained by this smart, imaginative quantum thriller.”</div>
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-<i><b>Fantasy Literature</b></i></div>
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<div class="WordSection1">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic', sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; letter-spacing: 0.25pt;">CHAPTER
1<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div>
<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: 13.95pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">It would be the disaster of their
generation, like the fall of the Twin Towers or Kennedy’s assassination. Sandra
Kelley was one of the early responders, one of the first to see the stadium
lying crushed, torn apart as if by an angry giant. She was less than two years
out of police academy, a junior officer still doing patrol on the night shift.
She had seen victims of traffic accidents, so she wasn’t entirely green, but
nothing could have prepared her for this.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.35pt;">It seemed
as if every police car, ambulance, and fire truck in the city had been routed
to Broad and Pattison, but it wasn’t nearly enough. There had been a Wasted
Euth concert at Lincoln Financial Field that night, so there were crowds of
gawkers to control, and the number of injured in the parking lot alone was more
than they could handle. Debris lay scattered everywhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">Most of the light poles in the
parking lot were still intact, but the stadium wreckage itself was dark, an
unexpected hole where once 2000-watt lights had blazed out into the night. The
sky was overcast, a brooding bank of clouds that hid the stars and seemed to
press down on the city.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .2pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra dialed her dad’s phone for what must have been the
tenth time. The call went straight to voice mail, just like every other
attempt. Her voice was shaking badly. “Dad, please call. Please get this. Tell
me you weren’t at the game.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">She called her mom’s phone next.
No answer. She had left three messages already, but she left another one
anyway. “Mom, it’s Sandra. Please call. Dad was there, wasn’t he? He had
tickets. I don’t remember when, but I think it was tonight. He invited me, but
I was on duty . . .” She choked on the words and clicked off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">She weaved
her way around battered blue plastic seats, strewn across the parking lot
alongside unrecognizable pieces of mangled metal and concrete. There were
bodies, dozens of them. Some of them were whole. Others were not. She stopped,
doubled over, and vomited on her shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection2">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Her sergeant took one look at her face and pointed her
toward crowd control. Facing away from the stadium as much as possible, she and
a dozen other cops shouted people back and strung police tape to cordon off the
whole area. The first moment she could, she pulled her phone out of her pocket
and called her parents again. Nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .2pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Here.” Another cop pushed a water bottle into her hands.
It was Nathan, from her class at the academy. She took the bottle gratefully,
swished some water in her mouth, and spat it onto the pavement. It cleared some
of the taste of vomit from her mouth, but not the acid taste of fear. She felt
jittery and light-headed, like she was on some kind of uppers or a massive dose
of caffeine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.9pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Thanks,” she said, handing back the bottle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Keep it,” Nathan said. He was
blond and tall, with athletic good looks. The uniform fit him well. She had had
a bit of a crush on him back in the day, but he had fallen for a cadet named
Danielle instead, and they’d married a week after graduation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra tried her phone again, but with no result. Nathan
studied her face. “You know somebody who was here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">She nodded, swallowing hard. “My
dad. He used to take us all the time, when we were . . .” Her voice cracked,
and she pressed her lips together, holding back tears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“They’ll find him,” Nathan said.
“Don’t give up hope.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .5pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">She smiled as best she could and
nodded her thanks. Heavy earth-moving and construction equipment rolled in,
bulldozers and front-end loaders and cranes. Her sergeant pulled her back to
help with search and rescue. There were people trapped under eighty-ton blocks
of concrete, but no one seemed to agree about the best way to move them safely.
She found herself in crews of strangers, moving what rubble could be moved by
hand. She was tired, bone tired, but she knew she couldn’t stop. Peo-ple’s
lives depended on the work she was doing. And one of them just might be her
father.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection3">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">The FBI rolled in and added to the
confusion, waving their badges and trying to preserve the crime scene at the
same time rescue workers were tearing it apart. No one seemed to know quite who
was in charge. Without direct orders, Sandra did whatever she could, directing
EMTs with stretchers, soothing panicked family members, and checking press
badges for the reporters that swarmed the site like flies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">While she
did all this, she recorded everything she saw. Like most police officers,
Sandra wore eyejack lenses, the raw footage feeding into a huge database that
could be merged into a single, time-tagged, three-dimensional image of the
site. The detectives and bomb experts would study the data for clues as to what
had happened. Was it a terrorist attack? Or just a catastrophic engineering
failure? Feedback to her lenses told her which views and angles were
under-represented, encouraging her to aim her vision in directions that would
help fill in the holes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .5pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">The news she was getting through her
phone told her the media was already pointing fingers at the Turks. With
American forces in Poland and Germany blocking the Turkish advance, and the
Turkish navy controlling access to the Mediterranean, this was hardly a
surprise. The talking heads called it a Turkish attack on American soil,
comparing it to Pearl Harbor and calling for war. The Turkish president
officially denied it, and it was hard for Sandra to see what they would gain
from such a move. Though she supposed terrorists operated under a different set
of assumptions than most people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">She hadn’t
seen her sergeant in hours, so she just wandered the site, joining gangs of
workers where she saw a need. She queried the central database to see what
views had not yet been covered and headed in those directions, trying to
provide as much data as possible to the professionals whose job it was to make
sense of it all. All around her, there was the horror of death, so much death
that she could hardly take it in. She felt emotionally detached, floating in a
protective bubble her mind had formed around the experience. Her awareness
collapsed to simple tasks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i style="line-height: 13.85pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Step over the twisted metal. Help
lift the concrete slab. Check GPS and shift viewing angle to forty degrees.</span></i></div>
<div class="WordSection4">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Her father still didn’t return her calls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.6pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Hey! Officer! Could you give me a hand?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra turned to see a young man in a black Robson
Forensic cap waving to her. He was struggling to haul two black hard cases on
wheels over the debris-strewn ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Finally,” he said. “What’s a guy got to do to get a girl
to pay him some attention?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.45pt;">She narrowed her eyes, not in the mood for
humor. “What do you want?” “Could you take one of these? This<br />is really a
two-person job.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">One of the cases was the size of a large suitcase; the
other was big enough to hold a bass fiddle. Sandra took the smaller one. “What
is all this stuff?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .15pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“ID equipment,” the forensic tech
said, puffing as he hauled on the larger case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra imagined a lab on wheels, blood testing and DNA,
taking samples from the thousands of bodies and determining their identities.
“You can do that in the field?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .15pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">The tech
didn’t answer. They had reached a flat area with a minimum of debris. “This
will do,” he said. “Open that one up, will you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Inside she found telescoping poles, wires, and what
looked like a large security camera. “What kind of ID kit is this?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“The best kind, I hope,” the tech said. He opened the
larger case. Sandra didn’t understand at first what she was looking at. The
case seemed to be stacked with dozens of small electric fans.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">The tech
circled around to the smaller case and pulled out lengths of pipe, assembling
them with ease. In short order, he constructed a ten-foot tripod stand with the
camera device on top. From the bottom of the case, he extracted a box with
levers and a long antenna, like a remote control. “Stand back,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection5">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He flipped a switch, and the larger case started
rumbling. It vibrated visibly, chattering against the concrete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .2pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“What—” Sandra started to say, but
she was interrupted by a sound like the buzzing of a hundred angry bees. Out of
the case rose a formation of two dozen quad-rotored helicopters, each the size
of a dinner plate. They dipped in unison, shearing off to the right just as a
second formation rose up to take their place. Each formation was a perfect
rectangle, six copters by four, flying inches apart and moving as if locked
together. At a cue from the tech, they left their places and flowed into a new
formation, twenty-four wide by two deep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .5pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">He pressed another button, and the
quadcopters shot off toward the ruined stadium, doing twenty or thirty miles an
hour, eight feet above the ground. Several people shouted or leapt away, but
the copters veered effortlessly to miss all obstacles, breaking out of
formation or angling their flight as necessary. Sandra looked after them in
awe. In the darkness, their LED lights swirled like a swarm of fireflies. Above
her head, the device that looked like a camera came alive, smoothly slewing
back and forth as if aiming at each of the receding quadcopters in rapid
succession.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Some of the people nearby threw
dirty looks their way. A few picked themselves off the ground after diving to
avoid the copter brigade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Sandra
forgot her astonishment and wondered if she’d just been tricked. She had no
idea what this guy was doing, but it wasn’t forensics. Was he a reporter? Or
was he a terrorist, out to destroy evidence or make a secondary attack?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.3pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">She undid the snap that held her pistol in its holster.
“Put the remote down,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.6pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">He looked bewildered. “But—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.6pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">“Now!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .15in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He dropped the remote and held up his hands. “You don’t
understand—” “What kind of stunt are you trying to pull? You said this was ID
equipment.” She reached for her radio to call him in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection6">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .8pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“It is!” he said. “The copters have RFID readers on board.
I told you the truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">She paused. She would make a fool of herself if she called in a
real CSI. “Let me see your ID,” she snapped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.85pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Honest,” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.85pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.55pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“ID.” She held out her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .3pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sheepish, he dug around in a pocket and handed up a
laminated card. It was a University of Pennsylvania student ID.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.05pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“You’re a </span><i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">student</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.3pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He looked offended. “I’m an engineering doctoral
candidate in robotics and sensory perception.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.9pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.5pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Put your hands down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.7pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">He put them down. “I’m allowed to be here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“What about the cap?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.35pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He took it off and looked at the logo. “Oh,” he said.
“Some of the forensic outfits hire us sometimes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“And who gave you permission to loose a fleet of
helicopters in a crowded search and rescue scene?” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0.6pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt; line-height: 14.4pt;">“It’s a swarm, not a fleet,” he
said. “Look, most of the people who died out there have cards in their wallets
with RFIDs in them. Credit cards, gas cards, SEPTA cards. They work with
magnetic resonance; </span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.0666667px; line-height: 19.2px;">illuminate</span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.05pt; line-height: 14.4pt;"> them with a burst of radio energy, and they
fire back a signal with a number on it. With the right databases, those numbers
can be turned into people’s names. The quadcopters tag the number and the GPS
coordinates, and boom: we have a map of the positions and IDs of every person
on the site. Well, nearly. A lot of them anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra was cooling down now that
he seemed to be legit. She holstered her weapon. “What’s the camera for?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">“This?” he said, pointing up at the
device on the tripod. “That’s the radio transmitter. I have to use a pretty
narrow beam to get a strong enough return signal through the rubble. The
copters can’t carry one, so I mount it here and </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt; line-height: 14.4pt;">coordinate them. Most RFID readers are
two-way, but I had to split it up: the transmitter here to pulse the energy at
each spot on the ground, and the copters at the right spot at just the right
time to detect any returns.”</span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection7">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“And you had permission to do this?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.85pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">He winced. “Sort of.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.85pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.55pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“What does ‘sort of’ mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .3pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“The chief told me I could do whatever harebrained
experiment I wanted as long as I got out of her way.” He gave an awkward smile.
“I guess I charmed her with my rugged good looks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra smiled in spite of
herself. The tech wasn’t rugged or good-looking, not by anybody’s definition.
He was short and soft, with a thick face, glasses, and a hint of a mustache.
His skin was a light, mottled brown, and his hair could have used a trim months
ago.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.85pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Oh, fine,” he said. “I see how it is. You like them tall
and blond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">Blue eyes, probably. Flawless skin,
Swedish accent—I know the type.” “I’m just doing my job. You’d better not be
lying about the chief, because<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .15pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: -.25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.35pt;">I’m going to check.” She glanced
back at his ID card. “Your name is Angel?” “An-HEL. The g is pronounced with an
h sound.” He rolled his eyes. Her smile vanished. “What?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“I know what you’re thinking. Who would name a boy
‘Angel’? Typical American. I’ll have you know Angel was the fifth most popular
name for boys born in Mexico last year.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Is that where you’re from?” she
asked. “Mexico?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Born and bred.” He lifted his
chin high. “Spent my whole life in San Antonio, until last year.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Sandra paused. “Isn’t San Antonio
in the United States?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“There you go again, with your prejudicial comments,”
Angel said. “Only Americans think it’s in the United States.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">This time she caught the sparkle in
his eyes. “Are you serious?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .15pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He grinned, breaking the tension.
“I’d say about twenty percent of the time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection8">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.25pt;">She wanted to punch him. She
couldn’t tell when he meant what he was saying and when he was just messing
with her. In her current state of high tension, she didn’t find that funny. On
the other hand, she was having a conversation, and having a conversation meant
not looking at the scene around her, expecting to stumble over her father’s
body at any moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .2pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.35pt;">The angry buzzing sound grew
louder, and she turned just in time to see the swarm of quadcopters bearing
down on her. She gasped and ducked, but the copters reined up short, breaking
off into groups of four. Each group of four wheeled up to Angel, hovering
around him for a few moments before banking away again. He snapped open a laptop
and typed rapidly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: .4in; margin-top: 0in; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“It’s working!” he said, the astonishment evident in his voice.
“You’re surprised? Haven’t you tried this before?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.8pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.7pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“In the lab, sure, but not in real life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.6pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“You covered the whole site already?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">“No, not
even close.” As the last foursome left him, the copters slid into formation and
shot away toward the wreckage again. “It’ll take hours to cover everything. But
that’s a lot better than days, maybe weeks, of dozens of techs with handheld
readers doing the same thing. The information won’t be conclusive; people will
still have to confirm each identification, actually look at each body. But as a
preliminary map, it should save a lot of effort and let family members know
about their loved ones more quickly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He rotated the laptop to show her the screen. It was an
aerial map of the site, flanked by Pattison Avenue and Hartranft Street. One
corner was peppered with yellow dots. Angel zoomed in on that corner, and the
dots bloomed out into numbers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .15pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Each of those points is a
person. Probably,” he said. “There are RFIDs in other things, too.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“And from that you know who they
are?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“Well, I don’t,” he said. “I
don’t have access to those databases. But the police do, you can be certain,
and if there are any they don’t have, the feds can get them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="WordSection9">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .15in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra studied the design the dots made on the screen,
swooping in zigzagging curves. It didn’t look random. “Why does it make a
pattern?” Angel shrugged. “I don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">She thought about what her dad would say, seeing a
pattern like that. “It might be important,” she said. “If things were thrown
around in a recognizable pattern, we might be able to determine what caused
this, maybe even track down the source.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Another shrug. “I work in a robotics lab, but I’ll tell
you one thing; this was no bomb.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.9pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.6pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">She cocked her head at him. “What do you
mean?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">“There was no fire,” he said.
“Nothing’s burned. And look at how the stadium collapsed—it looks more like it
fell in on itself than like it was blown out. Most of the rubble is piled up
inside, on the playing field. More like an earthquake. Or a sinkhole.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He was right. It was obvious, now
that she thought about it. There was plenty of debris in the parking lot, but
it looked more like it had been pushed by the force of the falling stadium
walls, not like the walls themselves had been blown out. But there had been no
earthquake; at least not that anyone was reporting in the news. “Maybe there
were a lot of smaller charges placed at key spots,” she said. “Arranged so that
the walls would fall in and kill as many people as possible.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Angel nodded, thoughtful. “Hey,” he said, “if we know
where the people are now, and where they were originally sitting, maybe we
could draw lines from their starting point to where they ended up. We could
track the vectors of force.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">He was getting excited, but all she could think about was
the image of her father’s body being blown out of his seat. She felt sick and
put her hand over her mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .1in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .15in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">A female cop ran up to her, dark hair blown back in the
wind. It was Danielle, Nathan’s wife. “Sandra,” she said, “you’ve got to come
now.” “What is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 3.1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“I think it’s your father.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra’s mind rebelled at the
words. She wanted to punch Danielle in her pretty mouth for daring to say such
a thing. “Dead?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Danielle didn’t answer, but her eyes told Sandra
everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .2pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Sandra followed her at a run to where Nathan stood over a
body on the ground. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes dead. He was holding a
black leather wallet, worn and familiar. Sandra looked at the wallet, refusing
to look down, terror gripping her throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">She took the
wallet and flipped it open. Her father’s face stared up at her from his
Pennsylvania driver’s license, but she checked the name anyway. Jacob Kelley.
She shook her head, trying to process what she was seeing, the information
somehow failing to sink in, even though she’d been expecting it now for hours.
She shook her head, trying to push the evidence away, wishing for a return to
uncertainty, when it was still possible that he hadn’t been here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;">Finally, she looked down. Her father lay on the pavement
as naturally as if he’d fallen asleep there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">“I’m sorry,”
Nathan began. She waved her hand to fend off his words, and he trailed off. He
stood there, awkward, not knowing what to say. Danielle put a hand on her arm.
Sandra turned and buried her face into the coarse, blue fabric of Danielle’s
shoulder. She felt like she ought to cry, but the tears didn’t come. Danielle
stroked her hair, while Sandra took in big gulps of air, like she was drowning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.95pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Her phone rang.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0.25pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt; line-height: 14.4pt;">The noise
startled her. She reached for it automatically, and then nearly threw it away.
She’d been waiting for it to ring all night, and now, when it finally did, it
was too late. The automatic movement brought the screen up to her eyes,
however, and she saw the number. It was her father’s number.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 0.25pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.25in; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><span style="line-height: 14.4pt;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">She answered.</span><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4px;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; line-height: 14.4pt; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.4px;"> </span>“Sandra?” Her father’s voice was
warm and strong and sweet and utterly recognizable.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.4pt;">“Dad?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; letter-spacing: -0.4pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"> --------------------------------------------------------------</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.75pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 2.45pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/supersymmetry.html">Supersymmetry</a> is out now!</span></div>
</div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-26863317726818939152015-09-16T15:21:00.001-04:002015-09-16T15:21:10.374-04:00Goodbye sunshine.Even though we haven't quite reached the Fall Equinox yet, we're all painfully aware that summer is over. The weather can't decide what it wants to do, so we leave the house wearing boots and come home from work wearing flip flops. Or maybe that's just in Western New York. <br />
<br />
Any who, we're excited for Fall because we have some seriously <i>awesome</i> books coming out. From a quantum creature bent on destroying the world, to a war against humans and vampires, to a parallel world full of magic and gunpowder, we've got everything you could hope for this season.<br />
<br />
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/supersymmetry.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89G3XmGRG1qbjOkG-A7XDokH3QqoGAQ97Vczv7rTy4m_ukCYV5zSYueAb7V6Ll2BGO7Z19OewWASO99SCn6w_QRiJ0drM1Cw3fn4VO8Rf6dZM69raTzJPRJc1etLHhHQf6g/s1600/Supersymmetrey_cover.jpg%20" width="285" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/earthflight.html"><img height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicjA6nZPc6pod4uXu_VPRlH9ooNhIZ6mHyBmMwlPfJvEqpJQIXTG2T90zn2Hp2ZEPizj7jnYSD9vm3p6f6rw5OZ92VMDBomrwxwPTgcWcExKu8NiFpiSBKaZtSjRKl0MUXdg/s1600/Earth+Flight_cover.jpg%20" width="285" /></a></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/goldthroneinshadow.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiljp9hyrzAzNvNxg23-zzWUr7qmuNI1FPgTtyBVI7YI1ptj4H2jvp0I1MTEgOiuHtQeMKX2cL_NEmOZLZaATb4OP-3D8kal9-YOWPQDyLljsiz2fkv4VRZcI4NWb5OP5deEA/s1600/Gold+Throne_Cover.jpg" width="285" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/risingtide.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjO8qPbRiDPbw5ZOU0pfErFu-BVLPhdFhmsK0kDBBV_CCHi7ZH2or-8a8mYhc7j4vhyTQXCRMlEmp127Gg50oV3Cb9cpNC2tNp0hjIF6jmc11GPWHzhGdiI6YuaGVZTffFA/s1600/Rising+Tide_cover.jpg%20" width="285" /></a></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/geomancer.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLKtSu63K311H96Sg4wNKdofO98zhe2_rMkEtpiSfU_YNMZXoAtsIAdXYTlEqeh8TZb3VemSm0bL3tHOZ5suo29cnCHNbBC1jmYlcjBazHAmjalztUxB28vg4SGlBg2ADNA/s1600/Geomancer_cover.jpg%20" width="280" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/prisoninantares.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwR5Y0wXBNBrV5qRHh8GIqAKHBn8lo1Pog5irf3gC2OpSoR01nfcCGgnDepfj7ouEHd4r4iG9x7PbWXK1QBcfzn9pu9VyZSvPP5TKpxPzhcedmJLG3gLteFhEPAgIxUhmCgQ/s1600/Prison+in+Antares.jpg%20" width="280" /></a></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/NebulaAwards2015.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NjBiyu8lfR-h2ZsUFA0ufIwZdgO0rsIB_2d8e7FJNru1F7Gd2oqWdXXl5JhyphenhyphenzeAqHi452hyphenhyphenuprud8sOvMe4_YWMMMmX8h2_nPSQqoxj4YgAYKWyUu-VuUnbuTiR1sJ_s8Q/s1600/Nebula+Awards+Showcase+2015_cover.jpg%0A" width="280" /></a></div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-32551476458720206652015-08-18T14:34:00.001-04:002015-08-18T14:34:50.577-04:00Steampunk, steampunk, everywhere!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoStGM606xwAypLij7LUYj-t1hdaSdJnQakqzoiJvD7RPZHUvCDI2xlkN-inpFMcElBggbk3ak7rM8N77cfsoG5lbAIUAyb5qzYET0BCOUA79bP88xPMNfOlbIH5bjcPDCKg/s1600/Rise+Automated+Aristocrats_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoStGM606xwAypLij7LUYj-t1hdaSdJnQakqzoiJvD7RPZHUvCDI2xlkN-inpFMcElBggbk3ak7rM8N77cfsoG5lbAIUAyb5qzYET0BCOUA79bP88xPMNfOlbIH5bjcPDCKg/s200/Rise+Automated+Aristocrats_cover.jpg" /></a>Alternate history? Check. Steampunk? Double check. Time traveling? Wait, wait, <i>dimension</i> travelling? Yep, we've got that covered too.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mark Hodder brings you all the above and more in his sprawling six-book Burton & Swinburne series. They're actually two separate trilogies, and the last three books can be read separately from the first three, but Hodder's details seamlessly connect all his books in a way we can't even begin to describe. And this month, the saga concludes with <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/RiseoftheAutomatedAristocrats.html">The Rise of the Automated Aristocrats</a>.<br />
<br />
If you've picked up any of the first books, either <i><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/StrangeAffair.html">The Strange Affair of Spring Heeled Jack</a> </i>or <i><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/ClockworkMan.html">The Curious Case of the Clockwork Man</a>,</i> or even if you started with <i><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/SecretAbudYezi.html">The Secret of Abdu El Yezdi</a>,</i> you'll need to see how this one ends.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
They say don't judge a book by it's cover, but seriously how can you not?<br />
<br />
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGpslVczkTFYvMT_9bUTtde0teLKctfZ1eD0hX1R-WN1rpAkDw10q2vfwc8etAa-eu_-81KEuAGmriY0ydDHiE4YOzMVnuzTXTegME2Nvll7vzSrj8WCDqRHwF45roRAe6_g/s1600/Spring+Heeled+Jack_COVER.jpg%20" width="285" /></td>
<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGbJge8yTb6ppLXRJ9Am55KXIe-Sg51XkvnWPN7hQVpDACO1zw6rJscT1ab8pk7lFES7on53rYSJvPnMpIjFLT8FsfLhPK9zK0texfDZ57_oRTRDwh1Lon_As6MwnAFH3n_w/s1600/Clockwork+Man_cover.jpg%20" width="285" /></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdno9NdE80lgkKaYSDfZ9rLoFeJZVYYS4iVypLPzxcpguq_1RFueP3bY_ffX_B_l7Bwnq1gfOqO8HGAjN8H-7znodxhz67qfnl7XVEE43VdGmgXzWwv7xZNh3Zp0WYFA4jXQ/s1600/expedition+to+the+mountains_cover.jpg%20" width="285" /></td>
<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy9x_9vpnCObKoFPTEPJLVEUBtRc9E55eSwCf0v2RCrUnqq4p_aN1OZGq27Q7a9nkzJC5XcxN9bjGeTEfwD8mtf0MHioOEhngdf3jODuI7td-hu2hHQY3QfMZQyahmnmbK2g/s1600/Secret+of+Abdu.jpg%20" width="285" /></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqzLYUQMMSmiIC5W_rNH5PerQrXfLTKb0mUGF9a6X-vUsxPHQRa628aaq2vLuAa7zEmJOSEzcORS2ZwmeoNCJNwmOTJQYfdhEPjMY-rvAJU146Qz0GfvuPzXZCcyYuieQ1g/s1600/Return+of+the+Disc+Man_cover.jpg%20" width="285" /></td>
<td><img height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim9xB9l4CzumeUX9f32N9aBBGrWtBs0PsGO4Ax1Lz9eON8tcDakAd1o-vJrX3QP9gXwk7EwDod4x55NYyRRhexBNMP4AZPbj0VskHrRkwk9cJ76C6Gtvh70UTae5ur00Hqgg/s1600/Rise+Automated+Aristocrats_cover.jpg%20" width="285" /></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-24801764783195656342015-07-22T10:05:00.000-04:002015-10-09T13:38:01.142-04:00Inside the mind of Imago BoneEver wanted to get into the mind of a character? Well, <i>even deeper </i>than literally reading his or her thoughts and actions throughout a book? <br />
<br />
Take a glimpse inside the failing mind of Imago Bone in Chris Willrich's newest book <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/ChartofTomorrows.html">The Chart of Tomorrows</a>. This handy list was written by Bone to help him remember the people he's met, the places he's seen, and the creatures that tried to kill him. Sounds like a helpful list, if you ask me.<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: orange;"><b>_________________________________________________</b></span></div>
<br />
<div class="WordSection1">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 13.9pt; margin-top: 2.2pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">IMAGO BONE’S NOTES ON </span><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
PEOPLE, PLACES, AND THINGS </span><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
BECAUSE HE IS GETTING OLDER </span><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;">
AND HIS MEMORY IS TAXED</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 18.6666660308838px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<b>A-Girl-Is-A-Joy</b>: Also, Joy Snøsdatter, Joy. Daughter of Snow Pine. Chosen to be the Runethane, champion of the Bladed Isles. It might have gone easier for her if she hadn’t.<br />
<b><i>A Tumult of Trees on Peculiar Peaks</i></b>: Also known as the Scroll of Years. A landscape painting that either contains or accesses a pocket dimension of accelerated time. You see, Gaunt? I can use magical jargon too.<br />
<b>Aile</b>: A headwoman of the Vuos people. I heard of her much later, yet somehow I feel she belongs here.<br />
<b>Alder</b>: A former wizardly apprentice, my comrade at the Gull-Jarl’s steading.<br />
<b>Alfhild</b>: A human raised as one of the fey uldra-folk. A princess of the uldra, no less. It seems to have affected her mind.<br />
<b>All-Now, the</b>: Mirabad term for the compassionate creator of the universe.<br />
<b>Anansi</b>: An exploratory ship from Kpalamaa.<br />
<b>Arngrimur </b>Townflayer: One of the Nine Wolves. You may notice a theme in their names.<br />
<b>Arnulf Pyre-Maker</b>: One of the Nine Wolves.<br />
<b>Ash-lad, or Askelad</b>: A peasant hero from folktales.<br />
<b>Aughatai</b>: Jewelwolf’s horse. There was something very wrong with that horse.<br />
<b>Beinahruga</b>: Cairn.<br />
<b>Bone</b>: A fool. No, that’s not all. An old fool.<br />
<b>Brambletop</b>: A young woman of Larderland. It hurts to think of her now.<br />
<b>Breakwing Island</b>: A troll-inhabited island beside Spydbanen.<br />
<b>Cairn</b>: A Chooser of the Slain.<br />
<b>changeling</b>: A troll or uldra child, left in place of a kidnapped human child.<br />
<b><i>Chart of Tomorrows</i></b>, The: The Winterjarl’s protean book, full of cryptic passages and alarming maps.<br />
<b>Chooser of the Slain</b>: An agent of the old gods of the Bladed Isles.<br />
<b>Claymore</b>: A troll.<br />
<b>Clifflion</b>: Grand Khan of the Karvaks.<br />
<b>Corinna</b>: Princess, later queen, of Soderland. I was never sure where we stood with her, but I was always sure she was in charge.<br />
<b>Crypttongue</b>: A magic sword Gaunt wielded for a time. I hate magic swords.<br />
<b>Deadfall</b>: A sapient magic carpet. Before I met it, those words would not have seemed frightening.<br />
<b>Dolma</b>: An exiled warrior of Xembala. For a time she helped my son. I am grateful.<br />
<b>Draug</b>: A spirit creature found upon the sea and within the Straits of Tid. Draugar can take the forms of dead folk you’ve known.<br />
<b>Draugmaw</b>: An unnatural, gigantic maelstrom. It has Draugar in it.<br />
<b>Einar Bringer of Wailing</b>: One of the Nine Wolves.<br />
<b>Eldshore</b>, the: A slowly crumbling but still mighty continental empire.<br />
<b>Erik Glint</b>: A foamreaver and Larderman.<br />
<b>Eshe</b>: Priestess, wanderer, warrior, spy. Possibly our employer.<br />
<b>eventyr</b>: Fairy tales.<br />
<b>Everart</b>: Rabble-rouser of Soderland. Quite good at it.<br />
<b>Fiskegard</b>: Independent-minded islands founded by fishermen, nominally part of Oxiland, periodically filled with itinerant workers. I came from a family of fishermen, and the scent was like home.<br />
<b>Five Fjords</b>: A shaky alliance of the towns of Lillefosna, Vestvjell, Vesthall, Grimgard, and Regnheim.<br />
<b>Floki</b>: A slaver.<br />
<b>Foamreaver</b>: Can be a seafarer, trader, raider, or all of them together.<br />
<b>Freidar</b>: An old tavernkeeper and Runewalker. Husband of Nan. Kind to Innocence, he was a good companion when we sailed aboard <i>Leaping Bison</i>.<br />
<b>Gamellaw</b>: A region governed by old laws under which steadings are the unit of civilization, not nations. Takes in Svardmark from the Morkskag to the Chained Straits, and all of Spydbanen.<br />
<b>Garmsmaw Pass</b>: A mountain pass connecting Garmstad territory to northern Svardmark.<br />
<b>Garmstad</b>: A town and territory allied to Soderland.<br />
<b>Gaunt</b>: What I call Persimmon when we’re about our errands. The other half of my mind.<br />
<b>Gissur Mimurson</b>: An Oxiland chieftain.<br />
<b>Gold-Jarl, or Gull-Jarl</b>: Ruler of the small country of Gullvik.<br />
<b>Grawik</b>: The steading of Ottmar Bloodslake.<br />
<b>Great Chain of Unbeing</b>: A huge artifact absorbing the power of the dragons whose immense bodies gave form to the Bladed Isles.<br />
<b>Grunndokk</b>: A town paying tribute to the Gull-Jarl.<br />
<b>Gullvik</b>: Name of a town and a small domain in Svardmark.<br />
<b>Gunlaug</b>: An overseer at the Gull-Jarl’s steading.<br />
<b>Haboob</b>: An efrit, a spirit of the desert.<br />
<b>Hakon</b>: The retired king of Soderland.<br />
<b>Harald </b>the Far-Traveled: Chieftain of the Laksfjord region.<br />
<b>Havtor</b>: A slave in the Gull-Jarl’s steading. May his name be honored.<br />
<b>Haytham ibn Zakwan ibn Rihab</b>: Inventor and gentleman of Mirabad, daring to combine natural philosophy and magic. He gave the world ballooning. I might regret that, had I never flown.<br />
<b>Heavenwalls</b>: Vast fortifications of Qiangguo—and beyond!—which somehow channel the land’s vital breath.<br />
<b>Hekla</b>: Huginn Sharpspear’s companion. I think she was more formidable than he.<br />
<b>Huginn Sharpspear</b>: A chieftain, lawyer, and tale-teller of Oxiland.<br />
<b>Imago</b>: What Persimmon calls me, amid the least or greatest dangers.<br />
<b>Inga</b>: She was half of the duo responsible for Peersdatter and Jorgensdatter’s <i>Eventyr</i>. A mighty fighter, and brave.<br />
<b>Innocence Gaunt</b>: Our son.<br />
<b>Ironhorn</b>: A Karvak general.<br />
<b>Ivar Garm</b>: Lord Mayor of Garmstad Town.<br />
<b>Jaska</b>: A girl who turned Innocence’s head in Oxiland.<br />
<b>Jegerhall</b>: The steading of Arnulf Pyre-Maker.<br />
<b>Jewelwolf</b>: Wife of the Grand Khan and a powerful leader in her own right. As if that wasn’t enough to make me nervous, also knowledgeable in magic. Sister of Steelfox.<br />
<b>Jokull Loftsson</b>: Strongest of the Oxiland chieftains.<br />
<b>Jotuncrown</b>: A settlement of humans in thrall to the troll-jarl in the Trollberg.<br />
<b>Joy</b>: What we all called A-Girl-Is-A-Joy.<br />
<b>Katta</b>, called the Mad: One of many names for the wandering monk of the Undetermined whom we knew. A big-hearted person, though I think he regarded me as a miscreant. Truly I have no idea why.<br />
<b>Kantenings</b>: The humans of the Bladed Isles, excepting the Vuos, who stand apart.<br />
<b>Kantenjord</b>: It means something like “Edge-lands.” Outsiders know it better as the Bladed Isles.<br />
<b>Karvak Realm</b>: The empire of the Grand Khan.<br />
<b>Karvaks</b>: The mightiest nomads of the steppes.<br />
<b>Klarvik</b>: A town in Soderland.<br />
<b>Kolli the Cackling</b>: One of the Nine Wolves.<br />
<b>Kollr</b>: A young follower of the old gods in Oxiland, whom Innocence befriended.<br />
<b>Kpalamaa</b>: A mighty realm of the South. If Qiangguo is not the world’s most advanced nation, it is this.<br />
<b>Laksfjord</b>: A surprisingly pleasant community near the Morkskag.<br />
<b>Langfjord</b>: The steading of Kolli the Cackling.<br />
<b>Lardermen</b>: Elite group of foamreavers, who made their name bringing supplies past a blockade.<br />
<b>Leaftooth</b>: Head monk of the Peculiar Peaks.<br />
<b>Liron Flint</b>: Explorer, treasure hunter, friend.<br />
<b>Loftsson’s Hall</b>: Steading of Oxiland’s most powerful chieftain, with many allied folk nearby.<br />
<b>Lysefoss</b>: A settlement beside a spectacular waterfall. I’d have appreciated it more if we hadn’t been running for our lives.<br />
<b>Malin</b>: She was half of the duo responsible for Peersdatter and Jorgensdatter’s <i>Eventyr</i>. A brave soul. An unusual mind.<br />
<b>Meteor-Plum</b>: The guardian of the Scroll of Years sometimes goes by this name.<br />
<b>Mirabad</b>: Name for both a great city and the caliphate it commands. Once its power made the world tremble; its wealth and learning still make the world envious.<br />
<b>Morkskag</b>, the: The haunted forest that divides “civilized” Svardmark from the Gamellaw.<br />
<b>Mossbeard</b>: A troll.<br />
<b>Muggur Barrow-Friend</b>: One of the Nine Wolves.<br />
<b>Muninn Crowbeard</b>: Once a foamreaver styled “Surehand.” He changed, more than once.<br />
<b>Nan</b>: An old tavernkeeper and Runewalker. Wife of Freidar. Those two were kind to Innocence and did as much as anyone could to protect their homeland. I, a selfish man, am in awe.<br />
<b>Nine Smilodons</b>: The Karvak soldier we traveled with for a time.<br />
<b>Nonyemeko</b>: Captain of <i>Anansi</i>.<br />
<b>Northwing</b>: A taiga shaman in service to Steelfox. Powerful as friend or enemy. I would know.<br />
<b>Numi</b>: A Swan-church novitiate whom Innocence befriended.<br />
<b>Ostoland</b>: A heavily wooded island, of somewhat insular folk.<br />
<b>Ottmar Bloodslake</b>: One of the Nine Wolves.<br />
<b>Oxiland</b>: A volcanic realm, and some associated islands, in Kantenjord’s northwest. A bleak country, settled by stubborn people with notions of democracy. Clearly they are mad. It’s tempting to join them.<br />
<b>Painter of Clouds</b>: Swanlings use this term for what Mirabad’s people call the All-Now; they got the name from the People of the Brush.<br />
<b>Peersdatter and Jorgensdatter’s <i>Eventyr</i></b>: A surprisingly useful book of folk-tales.<br />
<b>Peik</b>: A boy from Klarvik, by his own account absolutely the most truthful person that this or any other world has known.<br />
<b>Persimmon</b>: See Gaunt. She is the one who should be writing this down; she has the gift for words. But she forgets little and doesn’t see the need. She remembers the time I did this, and the time I did that, and the other thing. And yet she is still with me.<br />
<b>Qiangguo</b>: A vast realm of the East. If Kpalamaa is not the world’s most advanced nation, it is this.<br />
<b>Qurca</b>: Steelfox’s peregrine falcon, bonded to her spirit.<br />
<b>Rafnar Dragon-Axe</b>: One of the Nine Wolves.<br />
<b>Ragnar</b>: Half-brother of Corinna of Soderland.<br />
<b>Red Mirror</b>: A Karvak soldier.<br />
<b>Roisin</b>: A Swanling priestess. A fine person, surely, but a little too cozy with <br />
<b>Rolf</b>: A young Swanling of Oxiland, whom Innocence befriended.<br />
<b>Rubblewrack</b>: A troll, or so she appeared.<br />
<b>Runethane</b>, or <b>Runemarked Queen or King</b>: The one who commands the energies of the Great Chain of Unbeing.<br />
<b>Runewalkers</b>: Traditional mages of Kantenjord. Their power derives from tracings of mystic runes. Some of their tracings are enormous.<br />
<b>Ruvsa</b>: Pirate queen of Larderland.<br />
<b>Schismglass</b>: A magic sword, akin to Crypttongue but antagonistic.<br />
<b>Skalagrim the Bloody</b>: One of the Nine Wolves. I’ll say no more about him.<br />
<b>Skrymir Hollowheart</b>: Lord of trolls in Spydbanen and, effectively, everywhere else.<br />
<b>Skyggeskag</b>, the: An elder forest in Soderland, cousin to the Morkskag.<br />
<b>Snow Pine</b>: Once known as Next-One-a-Boy or simply Next One. A bandit of Qiangguo and a companion to Persimmon and me. Our best friend.<br />
<b>Smokecoast</b>: The largest settlement of Oxiland.<br />
<b>Soderland</b>: Strongest and richest of the local kingdoms, principalities, chiefdoms, and what-have-yous. Therefore, the biggest target.<br />
<b>Splintrevej</b>: Maze-like scattering of islands in the heart of Kantenjord.<br />
<b>Spydbanen</b>: The northeastern of Kantenjord’s main islands, and home to its most violent jarls, including the troll-jarl. The Vuos people live in its extreme north.<br />
<b>Steelfox</b>: A princess of the Karvak Realm, determined to conquor the Earthe in the memory of her father, the first Grand Khan. Even with all that in mind, I liked her.<br />
<b>Storfosna</b>: A town in Soderland.<br />
<b>Stormhamn</b>: A town in Soderland.<br />
<b>Sturla’s Steading</b>: The home of Huginn and Hekla.<br />
<b>Styr Surturson</b>: An Oxiland chieftain.<br />
<b>Surtfell</b>: The great volcano of Oxiland.<br />
<b>Svanstad</b>: The capital of Soderland and largest city in the Bladed Isles.<br />
<b>Svardmark</b>: Kantenjord’s largest island, home to what passes for its civilized lands.<br />
<b>Swan Goddess</b>: The deity said to have sacrificed herself to save the world. Accounted the daughter of the Painter of Clouds.<br />
<b>Swanisle</b>: An island nation, closer to the continent than are the Bladed Isles. Gaunt’s homeland. Legend has it it’s the petrified body of the Swan Goddess. I am not weighing in on this.<br />
<b>Swanling</b>: The Kantenings call the Swan Goddess’s followers this.<br />
<b>Tlepolemus</b>: A fellow far-traveled adventurer who became a Larderman.<br />
<b>Torfa</b>: Jokull Loftsson’s wife. By report, an exemplar of Kantening ferocity.<br />
<b>Trollberg</b>, the: The troll mountain-fortress beside Jotuncrown.<br />
<b>uldra</b>: A varied nonhuman folk who sometimes dwell underground and sometimes in other worlds entirely.<br />
<b>Undetermined, the</b>: An enlightened being venerated in the East.<br />
<b>Varmvik</b>: A town in Soderland.<br />
<b>Vatnar</b>: An important churchman of Oxiland.<br />
<b>Vinderhus</b>: A whaling community in Oxiland.<br />
<b>Vuos</b>: A human community distinct from the Kantenings. They herd reindeer and have shamanistic beliefs.<br />
<b>Vuk</b>: A man of the Wagonlords on the continent, my comrade at the Gull-Jarl’s steading.<br />
<b>Walking Stick</b>: An itinerant official of Qiangguo. Also a wulin warrior, capable of esoteric combat moves. A good ally, and a bad enemy, to have. He’s been both.<br />
<b>Wiglaf</b>: A legendary warrior, whose fate was tied up with the swords Crypttongue and Schismglass. I don’t envy him.<br />
<b>Winterjarl</b>, the: Harbinger of Fimbulwinter and Ragnarok, or so we thought.<br />
<b>Wormeye</b>: A troll.<br />
<b>Xembala</b>: A paradisiacal eastern land, a source of ironsilk. There are times I’d like to be there.<br />
<b>Yngvarr Thrall-Taker</b>: One of the Nine Wolves. He surprised us at the end.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.200000002980232px;">For all things Gaunt & Bone, check out <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/ScrollofYears.html">The Scroll of Years</a> and <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/Silkmap.html">The Silk Map</a>!</span></span><br />
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<td><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgICC8j3IHtfAob4p2g1GRogtetHS-yM6tZs8e-Bei04XppqjwazwnP720BZIwbZPWW121UsXz5GuleHabnksB3UTGLcWzrzlaQYaWV7ExDqADBQMVxffxGg0BMR3QyTEhGpQ/s1600/The+Silk+map_cover.jpg" width="250" /></td>
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Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-82874037694601108992015-07-07T13:14:00.001-04:002015-07-07T13:14:34.651-04:00Missing your favorite Earth Girl?Feel like it's been <i>forever </i>since you've spent time with Jarra? Think you physically cannot survive without some interplanetary travel before the final book, <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/EarthFlight.html">Earth Flight</a>, comes out in September? <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxHj76mSat9mS9f1nZhm0zQLiDh7i2oXT4CSJZi6SrOQs3BNtwuQBUdVANF3iGsqLyELO7Zm8NkrA_62DGd4KWbfLeh319qBefFK3YTQvt9m1Ov9JSB169nGfEyokvrhSTA/s1600/Earth+2788.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzxHj76mSat9mS9f1nZhm0zQLiDh7i2oXT4CSJZi6SrOQs3BNtwuQBUdVANF3iGsqLyELO7Zm8NkrA_62DGd4KWbfLeh319qBefFK3YTQvt9m1Ov9JSB169nGfEyokvrhSTA/s200/Earth+2788.jpg" width="133" /></a><br />
Well, luckily for you author Janet Edwards was nice enough to release some short stories featuring your favorite characters! Available now on Kindle (other devices coming soon) is the prequel collection <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0110T442O?*Version*=1&*entries*=0">Earth 2788</a> that you can grab for only $0.99. Less than a buck? Can't argue with that bargain. Well, you technically can't argue with anything other than a human, unless you don't care about it being one-sided, but we don't judge.<br />
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<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/earthstar.html"><img height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqsJ_kJf8Xr7e4kqy3ceQKiIqFa4QsNvZa-oG2yzCikD2QP72c_Bd0ACQyj460liGLwA7zZsgdEv92utgLPTZyAHMzXocWF-Q0MQ4kjdDmjtmqNcaryPx9EyjQbEygl0dc7A/s1600/Earth+Star_Cover.jpg%20" width="175" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/earthflight.html"><img height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPbDo1CdsPzFQO4sBSVXlQZ1ps0gC0DXQKhdzbTGPdpsm6O36LJVSnQkqKaH1Jzm7O88VQKHhs90XWoSQP3yRygxe7XOkIk9Pr_xyr-Nq3Yan6DsWzGy-fY3WxzlVT4qp_A/s1600/Earth+Flight_cover.jpg%20" width="175" /></a></td>
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And if you haven't had the chance to hop into Edwards' futuristic world, then <i>Earth 2788</i> is a nice taste of what you've been missing. </div>
Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-51592013923561696742015-06-26T14:52:00.003-04:002015-06-26T14:52:51.096-04:00Summa Summa Summa Summa...Oh summa (er, summ<b><i>er</i></b>), we're glad you finally showed up. And since you've suddenly got all this free time on your hands, how about you catch up on your TBR pile by the pool?<br />
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<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/superposition.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjo0XlDX4cXn-vzy2x-q6c5pHm5bK0Yk7-sroyvAY_tAL69hbvr5sFSb8p9BvZL7wl1Q2BMAEHhgX4pNDePO5r914eoJx58TArUmUesBlbxRSENrmOI9dvIu-oPPMYSJwVbA/s1600/Superposition_cover.jpg%20" width="185" /></a></td>
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<a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/fallingsky.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrRTB2ZvjkUZZLDU94i8gm46O_qliYYrWoQshlzpRHlqhnZRmUrXC_C_-LOsHlmR5kCRc5yJ-j2QTiYfZaEsci2R1yqMC0N1zuZF1KpvIWYc7U7WNpaZCg359Y-kgkzmU_Qw/s1600/Falling+Sky_cover.jpg%20" width="185" /></a></div>
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<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/swordofthebrightlady.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR1QPPYBfRyXYmZ9CrBugtqq4PZ97A9VK7kDN6RRjWomhlltzbw5ZHd8BUQL7zqqA6AI0LANMJV_kMUKKubUwRSBejB2wnZEP4Z5S6PcO0dUGJ4znykuKyO0i5OzPE-nxrcA/s1600/Sword+of+Bright+Lady_cover.jpg%20" width="185" /></a></td>
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Because you know what comes after summer, and this fall you'll want to be caught up for these next installments...</div>
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<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/supersymmetry.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsKrioUrj9LhIicHcROvqFGFBpQ310AQ86rFM1UtU7VdWTavgc-sZ0cJ1_EZLB4eag7F8MuGadxNSgMZOWWogrv9tHohWMgHqhAQ3lY0_e8omGDOyJ6SIpivdP6P-uwlgCuQ/s1600/Supersymmetrey_cover.jpg" width="185" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/rsingtide.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilhpQx48Slf5tBeW8LXP7xn5h-WINx_bVJ_fYqFOP-XLuNY_AG_EKPxsVA_ko_m21PHeMd5_-UN0HCGtW1Cy3da37hbLVL3OR9SMU3sBV_8LL4ewzgP0eObVz07Yy4ztFV4g/s1600/Rising+Tide.jpg" width="185" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/goldthroneinshadow.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQDPcwR6jWM9mkXabuUEW7IN9vh8O5kYu9Oj6nVXeFYCNQ8cJ1R73Km0oB_MLqeJi6W7gZeyTSIdtutbbHt6JQsBsQCbyU9ZBDZfa_OTFKQD2WeUTBXRt44DL0c2Hc1epmQ/s1600/Gold+Throne+and+Shadow.jpg" width="185" /></a></td>
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Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-6698749021860511642015-06-19T11:48:00.000-04:002015-06-19T11:48:44.560-04:00Father's Day is Coming.It's been less than a week since the season finale of <i>Game of Thrones</i>, and this Sunday we're supposed to be showering dads everywhere with something they'll love. We see an action-packed, fantasy-driven void that needs to be filled! Skip the cutesy coffee mugs and uninventive gift cards and give him something that will get his adrenaline pumping.<br />
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Read more in this months' <a href="http://campaign.r20.constantcontact.com/render?ca=f59cd276-1d3b-470c-98c0-5be793c62e49&c=288210a0-1b90-11e3-bb3f-d4ae5292c40b&ch=28c422b0-1b90-11e3-bb7e-d4ae5292c40b">Pyr-a-zine</a> enewlstter!Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-35343272461312494902015-06-15T13:40:00.002-04:002015-06-15T13:40:59.522-04:00Oathkeeper has arrived<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhS1TBEZCmQmT38lTHW3rDoyBDrT9yuTjueABV6NmE_m3zb65YP_5_GHjzSE2frlGui1x2PtyaGd2fx6ksru8okKo0cz9LbjjALACd4oof1Kh9nX18P4PGiLdf9MSxVz0ng/s1600/Oathkeeper_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizhS1TBEZCmQmT38lTHW3rDoyBDrT9yuTjueABV6NmE_m3zb65YP_5_GHjzSE2frlGui1x2PtyaGd2fx6ksru8okKo0cz9LbjjALACd4oof1Kh9nX18P4PGiLdf9MSxVz0ng/s320/Oathkeeper_cover.jpg" width="212" /></a>Looking to jump into a new series? Miss the old days where elves and dwarves could still swing a sword? Well, news this month is the second book in J. F. Lewis's Grudgebearer Trilogy, <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/Oathkeeper.html">OATHKEEPER</a>, and we've got an excerpt for you!<br />
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If you like what you read, don't forget to grab the first book <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/grudgebearer.html">GRUDGEBEARER</a>, so you...ya know...know what's going on.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBuKRG0vD4m4peTXviKGE4WGEMNWoEeP9M-9MyB1Fwx6ed0yI3DFatvoXRPod260VhWsE5dzOr5UbjcMYb0TUiIXvPefeUJsOkqZlWol0RypdtSJMSL_AqIvSsyrtOqwogug/s1600/Chapter+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="40" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBuKRG0vD4m4peTXviKGE4WGEMNWoEeP9M-9MyB1Fwx6ed0yI3DFatvoXRPod260VhWsE5dzOr5UbjcMYb0TUiIXvPefeUJsOkqZlWol0RypdtSJMSL_AqIvSsyrtOqwogug/s320/Chapter+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Night birds
called in the outer dark, joining a chorus comprised of tent fabric shifting in
the gentle breeze and the chirps, cries, and grunts of nocturnal creatures.
Rivvek loved those sounds; even the sea lapping against the pier at Oot
contributed to the unscripted opus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Combined with the scent of stale air inside
the tent and the snores of another person nearby, the sensorial collage
conjured memories of brighter days camping with his father the king . . . even
hunting trips with his younger brother before Dolvek had become so
insufferable. Rivvek had hoped his brother’s encounter with Kholster would be
transformative.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.2pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 1.7pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">If it had been, Rivvek couldn’t
see it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Elsewhere in
the ramshackle encampment, Oathkeepers and Oath-breakers alike slept soundly,
dreams little disturbed by the Grand Conjunc-tion’s approaching end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Their world is about to change in
ways they cannot even imagine</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, he thought, <i>blind
to the turning of the gears in the great destiny machine</i>.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.3pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 1.4pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The great destiny machine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Rivvek smirked at the thought of it. Once he’d believed the gnomes
worshipped a literal device that wove the skein of mortal fates. When he’d
realized numbers were the gnomish religion and their great destiny machine
merely a codified method of determining likely outcomes, he’d been sorely
disappointed . . . and then, years later as he lay healing under the care of
the Vael, he’d learned to do the math.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .15pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">The gnomes played a game with triangular
tiles: trignom. Queen Kari of the Vael had given him a set during his
convalescence. He had never learned to play well. Irka, Kholster’s son—a
perfect double called an Incarna—always beat him, but Rivvek remembered building
patterns with the double-sided numbered tiles atop the stiff and pungent
plaster in which the Vael healers kept most of him wrapped, and knocking them
over to watch the trignoms fall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The whole world was like those tumbling tiles if you knew how to
look at it, and, eyes having been so painfully and thoroughly opened, Rivvek
knew no other way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.3pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 1.65pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: 0.1pt;">My graduation approaches.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Rivvek considered his true education to have
begun at the Grand Conjunction a hundred and thirteen years ago. It marked his
thoughts then as<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: always;" />
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<div class="WordSection2">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .85pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">clearly as the
scars he’d received afterward warped his flesh. Was it fair to hold the lack of
such learning against his brother? An Eldrennai who still had his magic, whose
body was whole and hale?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Prince Rivvek lay in the dark, incapable of slumber, stacking up the
trignoms in his thoughts, looking at them from every angle and doing the math.
The first tile would be flicked over soon. It was a tile he would have given
almost anything to protect, to place his hand over the tile and hold it in
place safe and secure. There were three ways to stop it he could accomplish
alone, but then the pattern changed, and the new designs woven into the great
destiny machine spelled doom for the Eldrennai.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">He wasn’t sure
why the Zaur hadn’t started burning Root Trees yet. The math said they should.
Perhaps his formulae were off in that regard, but his calculations, his own
personal version of the great destiny machine, was far more accurate when it
came to the Eldren Plains and the politics and machinations of the Eldrennai.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Those sums spelled destruction now. He had not yet been born when
Uled had created the Aern, a race of warriors to defend against the reptilian
Zaur and their magic resistance. For each new problem, it now seemed, Uled had
created a new race and with each race, the path to doom had become more and
more difficult to avoid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Uled had wanted to restrict the Aern’s ability to breed, creating
them all male, thinking he could use low-born Eldrennai women with little magic
and no connections as brood mares for his warriors, but bearing Aern, with
their bone-steel and unique nutritional properties, rendered an Eldrennai
female barren, often after the first birth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.85pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Nine in ten. </span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Rivvek saw the statistics in his head, marveling at how
much cruelty could be concealed when suffering and evil were disguised as
numbers.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .15pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">To solve the breeding issue, Uled had created the plantlike Vael,
their bodies designed to be both appealing to the Aern and easily capable of
producing many Aern offspring, quite rapidly if the raw materials were
available in sufficient quantities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Two gallons of blood per infant to be
awakened. . . . Words from Uled’s notes haunted Rivvek, but he’d needed to
know, to understand, so that he could get the numbers right. His predictive
model required deadly accuracy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">On the page, everything looked like it would
work, but chaos, the natural tendency for change, had not been accounted for in
any of Uled’s plans or designs. First came the appearance of female Aern, then
male Vael.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.3pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 1.65pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Worse were the changes and complications brought in by individuals in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: always;" />
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<div class="WordSection3">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">power.
Enslaved by Uled’s magic, unable to refuse a command, or break an oath, the
Aern might have remained under complete Eldrennai control forever. Given the
pride and arrogance so common to Rivvek’s ancestors, in fact, the entire
bloodline of Villok, Rivvek was still astonished it had taken as long as it had
for an Eldrennai king to break his word to Kholster, First Born of Uled’s Aern,
thus releasing the Aern from the spells that bound them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">From there, even Rivvek’s predictions would
have been wrong had he been alive to make them. In prolonged battle against a
magic immune warrior race in possession of nigh unbeatable warsuits, even in
limited numbers, Rivvek would have projected a complete genocide for the
Eldrennai. His calculations would have failed to account for the Vael’s inborn
desire for peace and mediation as well as the Aern’s affection and respect for
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">The six hundred years of peace they had enjoyed had been a statistical
anomaly. Rivvek wondered whether other Eldrennai comprehended how lucky they
had been that the uneasy truce had lasted a year, much less six hundred. Even
if Dolvek, Rivvek’s brother, had not so stupidly broken the truce by moving the
warsuits the Aern had left behind as part of the truce, it would have ended
eventually. At that time, the oath made by Kholster to slay every Eldrennai
would have come into effect, and the path upon which they now walked would
still be theirs. Only the date had been variable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">But, as his own scarred body told the world, there are varying levels
of ruination. One can be scourged near to death, be broken, and laid waste to
and still heal to emerge from the flames, if not whole, then . . . still
useful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Kings die,”
he whispered, his voice breaking, the words strangled. “Fathers die.” He pushed
on, forcing himself through a verbalization of the hateful truth. “Everyone
dies eventually. It’s making sure that death has as much meaning as . . . as .
. .”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Optimize your
life and you will be rewarded in the next. That was what the gnomes believed.
Rivvek was certain Torgrimm, as god of birth and death, had made it happen.
Would Kholster, in his new role as Harvester, do the same? For the gnomes?
Rivvek did not doubt he would. For King Grivek?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .25pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Eyes closed more against that idea than the
dark, Rivvek’s ears perked up. His melted ear tugged against the tender flesh
at his temple as he eavesdropped on the Kingsguard. Their appointed rounds
kept them stationed far enough from the cluster of deiform statuary to avoid
disturbing the Conjunction itself, but close enough that the brave Eldrennai
could charge to their deaths in King Grivek’s defense. Rivvek assumed their
voices were overheard just as easily by the Vael and the Aern at Oot as they were
by him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: PMingLiU; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-break-type: section-break; page-break-before: always;" />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .7pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Now that
Kholster’s dead,” a husky-voiced Eldrennai muttered to someone, “our King will
make things right between the Grudgebearers and us. You wait and see, Dace.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.3pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 1.85pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Was that
Thalan speaking? Rivvek decided it must be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 11.15pt; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 1.65pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“You think so, Thal?” Dace breathed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“She’s not
even half a hundred yet,” Thalan chortled. “You think this kholster Rae’en can
out-negotiate an Eldrennai king with over half a millennium on the throne?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">This then</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, Rivvek thought, sitting up, <i>is the peril of my people: arrogance unrivaled by any other race and
self-deception enough to make Kilke himself blush</i>.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .1pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“My prince?” Sargus stirred. Rivvek opened his eyes, making out the
aura of Sargus’s life force more easily than he could his features in the
night—another “gift” from his time beyond the Port Gates. When one stood too
close to a Port Gate or wore armor made of Ghaiattri hide, one could see, as if
through a thin veil, the creatures of the Ghaiattri’s realm. Rivvek’s sight
afforded him a dual view of reality, particularly at night, the never-dark of
that other place seeped into his perceptions. With it came a light that illuminated
the spirits of sentient beings around him. Sargus shone as a whorl of colors,
dark, rich purples wending through golds and blues shot through with the
occasional bloody red or coal black.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">When bending his mind to a problem, the black, red, and purple
spread through Sargus, filling him up, the borders assuming jagged lines. Now
he was mostly blues and golds. Colors Dolvek thought of as safer. He hadn’t
been able to completely codify the internal palettes of others, but the inner
black was not good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Sargus had
fallen asleep reading. Blinking to focus on the real world as much as he could,
Rivvek barely made out the glint of the other elf’s goggles in the scant light
that crept in from outside. A full moon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“I’m sorry to wake you,” Rivvek whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“I shouldn’t have fallen asleep,” Sargus answered. “Shall I—?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“No,” Rivvek interrupted. “Let me do it. I need the practice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Rivvek heard an intake of breath as if Sargus had been about to
object, but the Artificer held his tongue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">A prince still has pride</span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">, Rivvek chided himself, <i>even a magic-crippled one</i>. Rivvek rubbed
his eyes, clearing away scratchy motes of “sleep” from the corners. He took a
long deep breath, held it, let it out again.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Mustering a supreme effort of will, Rivvek
forced his inner power to its utmost. Veins stood out on his forehead. His
scars grew hot then aching— pain a constant chaser to the savor of his magic
now—and fire raged forth: a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">gleaming white
flame no bigger than the wisp atop the wick of a lit candle hovered above the
tip of his index finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Warm illumination filled the tent, revealing the smiling face of
Sargus where he sat in the strange folding-chair contraption of brass and
leather that let him adjust the back to recline or sit up straight if needed.
Rivvek didn’t know how it could be as comfortable as Sargus claimed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Thoughts focused on the bit of mystic flame, Rivvek crossed the
tent and lit a lantern sitting upon a small camp table. Wiping a bead of sweat
from his cheek, Rivvek scratched absently at his nightshirt, as the pain in his
scars faded with the magic. The heat would take longer to dissipate, a side
effect for which none had been able to provide adequate explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Find anything
we missed?” Rivvek nodded at the leather tome open on Sargus’s lap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“No.” Sargus closed the volume, shifting it from his lap to a
nearby camp table. “We do still need to make sure we take care of the Stone
Lord, just in case—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“One son and two daughters,” Rivvek interrupted. He waved to his
left in the vague direction of the other Aiannai tents, the temporary homes of
those who had followed him to Oot hoping their prince and their new status as
Oathkeepers would save them from the Aern. “Each to inherit in an order we’ve
already hammered out. They relayed their request via Caz’s warsuit Silencer. I
handled it on my last trip.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“Who took them in?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Is it
horrible that I don’t remember?” Rivvek yawned. “But with Lady Flame, the Sea
Lord, Lady Air, and the Stone Lord . . .”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“That’s all of
the elemental council dealt with except for Hasimak.” Sargus yawned despite
himself. “He is more powerful than you realize. Were he to oppose us, he could
still—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“No.” Rivvek pulled his nightshirt over his
head revealing Kholster’s scars upon his back: a diamond shape at the base of
his spine with two parallel lines marking each facet, the right-angled wedges
at each shoulder, and a thumb-width line along his spine. Far from the only
things that marked his back, the scars of the First of One Hundred merely
filled in the space not marked by the various elemental foci that dotted his
back in winglike arcs in failed attempts to restore the full might of his
magic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">Once . . . </span></i><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">he cut the
thought off ruefully and reached for his traveling clothes. <i>Once these clothes were clean and fresh. </i>They
were rank from the multiple visits to and from Port Ammond, but he could get a
change of clothes when he got there. A bath, too. He’d almost given in to the
temptation to bring<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">a cleaning
wardrobe, but doing so had felt too extravagant. “We’ll go with your strategy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">“It’s risky. Even with the elemental lords
and ladies siding with you, the people could still riot. Even if Hasimak is
with us, he will never turn on his own people. If the citizens revolt . . . he
has always been loyal to the crown. Longer than the crown has existed,
actually, and there are far more non-magic-using Eldrennai than there have ever
been. Aern have proved how much trouble opponents without magic can be. The
plan is—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.2pt;">“Not as risky as you think it is.” Rivvek
heard footsteps outside his tent flap. Two steps took him close enough to throw
them open. He smiled when doing so revealed Brigadier Bhaeshal, his personal
Aeromancer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Just happened to be in the area, Bash?” Rivvek teased.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Finally used to your new schedule.” She smiled. Dressed as Rivvek was
in a traveling tunic, trousers, and boots, Bhaeshal would have made Hasi-mak’s
nose wrinkle in dismay at her lack of formal robes, but they weren’t really all
that sensible for long flights. “Lord Artificer.” She nodded to Sargus, the
light from the candle reflected in the masklike band of steel that was her
elemental foci. She looked back at him with those pale white crystalline eyes,
and he returned her gaze warmly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Lady Aeromancer,” Sargus nodded back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Will you both
be coming?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Perhaps I ought to stay and . . .” Sargus trailed off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.95pt; margin-top: .05pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Look after my father?” Rivvek smiled. “I wish there were
something you could do to change his fate, but there isn’t. I need you with me
. . . to stop Hasimak from taking the throne.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Please don’t even jest about that.” Sargus got up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12.9pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; text-align: justify; text-indent: .25in; text-justify: inter-ideograph; vertical-align: baseline;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.3pt;">Rivvek tried not to let it worry him. Yes, Hasimak was the oldest living
Eldrennai, but it was hard to imagine how he could be a threat to . . . well,
to the Aern if it came down to it. No, Rivvek was forced to ask kholster Rae’en
for assistance. It would be sad to see Hasimak go, but if that was the required
sacrifice to save as many of Rivvek’s people, as many of the Eldrennai, as he
could. Rivvek intended to make that sacrifice and any others the gods demanded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Don’t forget the book.” He gestured, and Sargus picked the heavy
tome up off of the camp table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“My prince . .
.” Sargus put a hand on Rivvek’s shoulder and seemed momentarily surprised by
the scars beneath his tunic, still hot to the touch even through the fabric.
“Maybe she won’t kill him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Kings die. A good king dies for his people when it is required.”
Riv-vek’s voice cracked as he whispered the words. Believing them didn’t take<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">dismiss their
sting in the slightest. “You just promise me we’ll make his sacrifice mean
something.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">They flew before dawn, sunrise catching up
with them halfway to Port Ammond. The rising light lent the flowing myr grass a
fiery aspect. Rivvek, carried by Bhaeshal’s Aeromancy, caught himself staring
down at it and remembering another departure one hundred and thirteen years
before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">He’d been
scarless then, a haughty elemental lord with command of all four elements as
was his birthright. A Flamewing, like his mother, when he worked magic wings of
fire sprouted from his back. A glory to behold. It had been like armor, that
pride, and Kholster had cracked it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">The Aern himself, First of One Hundred, stood
in the last light of the third day of the Grand Conjunction, bone-steel
mail—uledinium, his people had called it, but Rivvek would never dare to refer
to it as that again—denim trousers belted at the waist with knotted bone-steel
chain. Even those clunky boots had seemed grand to the prince. A Vael princess
named Kari (not-yet-queen), her head petals cascading over Kholster’s shoulder
as she leaned against him, watched Rivvek with sad, wide eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“You are right,” Rivvek said hoarsely. “What you say is true. My father
told me I should believe your version of any history you chose to share with me
and, hard as it is, I do. But, Kholster, what would you have me do? How can I
fix this? My people. My ancestors. There is no excuse for what they did to you.
No excuse for my father’s order at As You Please. No excuse for the
mistreatment of the Vael. Not for any of it. I came here ready to hate you.
Maybe I did hate you at first, but now . . .”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“There is
nothing you can do, Oathbreaker prince,” Kholster said, his voice gentle. “But
I, or my representative, will return again in one hundred years for the next
Conjunction if for no other reason than that you have heard and believed. You
have my oath on it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">Rivvek opened his mouth to object.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“Unasked for,” Kholster laughed. “I know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“I will find a way,” Rivvek answered. “I will find a way, not to
make things right, but as right as they can be.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Kholster
laughed again. “Good hunting then, but I fear your quarry is long dead, if it
ever existed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Princess
Kari,” Rivvek shook his head. “Is there anything I can offer the Vael other
than my apology?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“The Vael have no Litany to
recite against you, Prince Rivvek.” Kari<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">smiled
pityingly at him. “You are guilty of nothing in my—or our—eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Keep it that way and we ask nothing more. If Kholster agrees, you are
even<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">welcome in The Parliament of Ages.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.1pt;">Kholster nodded his assent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">“Such,” Rivvek answered, “is my intent.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“No promise?” Kholster asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.15pt;">“I swear that it is my intent, but I cannot read what the future may
hold<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 10.5pt; letter-spacing: -0.05pt;">. . . and accidents happen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-13154905901065724662015-05-29T15:19:00.000-04:002015-05-29T15:19:02.918-04:00BookCon is almost here!BookCon is tomorrow! I know you've probably got your weekend all planned out, between panels and signings and remembering which galleys to f<strike>ight to the death over</strike> grab before they run out, but don't forget to stop by our parent company's booth tomorrow to meet David Walton! Prometheus Books is at booth #3249, and he'll be signing his technothriller <a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/superposition.htm"><i>Superposition</i> </a>at two different times. Actually, you'll probably want to hop in line to meet Allen Eskens too, author of <i><a href="http://seventhstreetbooks.com/LifeWeBury.html">The Life We Bury</a></i> from our sister imprint Seventh Street Books. Back to back thrillers? Don't say we didn't warn you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9gf0-Fml68Qc_xqUlfdTUIC16AkJY7F6Nlj-KjqvdKiGYuJArZTR7QJBpfRTbXV1eS2Q6oR4RQWwXV-fVAKWjpNxlXwzYR5hnb51-ioX__N_5OafQAplxMQgKGq-0PA2dg/s1600/BookconSign2015.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA9gf0-Fml68Qc_xqUlfdTUIC16AkJY7F6Nlj-KjqvdKiGYuJArZTR7QJBpfRTbXV1eS2Q6oR4RQWwXV-fVAKWjpNxlXwzYR5hnb51-ioX__N_5OafQAplxMQgKGq-0PA2dg/s640/BookconSign2015.jpeg" width="412" /></a></div>
<br />Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-17486046153448922182015-05-19T12:39:00.002-04:002015-05-19T12:39:54.196-04:00Have you been HEXED yet?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Whether you're into comics or YA novels, (or neither, for that matter) you're going to want to check this one out. For the first time, Michael Alan Nelson's comic book character Lucifer exists in the prose novel world. And what a terrifying world that is. Lucifer hunts and nabs demons, travels through mirrors, and battles some very angry witches. All of which makes for some exciting reading!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghFsKEa3Zww5MWcYyLgyQc4XjSUx3Ssxl1ccZ-I0oXMXc_kxbA8_Ptj6qvoJx_7c-31uKNqRhCuITh_Gc5r7q9sGHsSh4K0Y_HWtD9trj5pEOs_cXEm1BjrTb51RQ4f72nVg/s1600/Hexed_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghFsKEa3Zww5MWcYyLgyQc4XjSUx3Ssxl1ccZ-I0oXMXc_kxbA8_Ptj6qvoJx_7c-31uKNqRhCuITh_Gc5r7q9sGHsSh4K0Y_HWtD9trj5pEOs_cXEm1BjrTb51RQ4f72nVg/s400/Hexed_cover.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">"An action-packed page-turner.”</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Kirkus Reviews</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">“With a plot that’s fast-paced and addictive, this book is truly something special.... I found myself utterly captivated by the whole story.”</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Bibliosanctum</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">"Nelson creates a magical world that hasn’t been seen before…. Lucifer is heroine that all YA books should look up to for inspiration.”</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Seattle Geekly</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">“Fast paced, fun.”</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Not Yet Read</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">"A dark magical adventure. It was fun, entertaining and enjoyable.”</span>—<span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Tome Tender</i></b></span></div>
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Have you jumped on the <i><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/Hexed.html">Hexed </a></i>bandwagon yet?</div>
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Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-7971770705020772402015-05-04T12:17:00.001-04:002015-05-04T12:17:43.265-04:00May the 4th be with you.Happy Star Wars Day! If you can celebrate with a marathon of movies, then quite frankly we're a bit jealous. If you have even <i>more </i>time and energy, and no more pressing needs (other than food, shelter, and clothing) then you should try your hand at <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pyrbooks/may-the-4th-be-with-you/">some of these awesome</a> Star Wars crafts.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FuM9wRKg5GyL6lXLLnRqV_1l9e-LYuy01zp7U3M4UPvMJ5TR2kh7OiZWnRchSOFvlvp1P3_sOPHnzyCEe0xyRZDjgaarOUBqsLLdOEcEbKza7Es0VqmV1Ktsr_q4ZQL9fg/s1600/star-wars-may-the-4th-chewbacca-bookmark-0314-420x420-IMG_3842-400x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5FuM9wRKg5GyL6lXLLnRqV_1l9e-LYuy01zp7U3M4UPvMJ5TR2kh7OiZWnRchSOFvlvp1P3_sOPHnzyCEe0xyRZDjgaarOUBqsLLdOEcEbKza7Es0VqmV1Ktsr_q4ZQL9fg/s200/star-wars-may-the-4th-chewbacca-bookmark-0314-420x420-IMG_3842-400x400.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Chewbacca bookmark? Yes please, as long as he doesn't leave hair in between the pages.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2SGuon6V9OPNCTnSDcJ3xHvhAuYTsISYhAM6uYcbgGswYs263YB4R4kkZ1gAiPHnVhZ_RJ8zlbUfbtNIbz3-j8KISzPYgbMWEciJF_53oWBmteDd_4NYy0FUTFRjIQDQxZw/s1600/amazing_24_star_wars_cupcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2SGuon6V9OPNCTnSDcJ3xHvhAuYTsISYhAM6uYcbgGswYs263YB4R4kkZ1gAiPHnVhZ_RJ8zlbUfbtNIbz3-j8KISzPYgbMWEciJF_53oWBmteDd_4NYy0FUTFRjIQDQxZw/s320/amazing_24_star_wars_cupcakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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CUPCAKES! Because everything is better in cupcake form. Send them by the dozen.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNUENcnATEPZExGDT-T9RBWwwpU8TRmIdAbfHf4pOK1bxDoj11F-7_4VvPssJ_QE5b6GFFh2pIv_IkXceOOT8P2Pdos2Y7ZbFHsn6sOBIyvot2L6O4b4IS2AHXGRb-4VM0Q/s1600/1d9cfe89f75496cceae642c875869d87.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNUENcnATEPZExGDT-T9RBWwwpU8TRmIdAbfHf4pOK1bxDoj11F-7_4VvPssJ_QE5b6GFFh2pIv_IkXceOOT8P2Pdos2Y7ZbFHsn6sOBIyvot2L6O4b4IS2AHXGRb-4VM0Q/s1600/1d9cfe89f75496cceae642c875869d87.jpg" /></a></div>
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I actually can't think of a reason NOT to stock these at work. Meeting in 5 minutes? Let me just grab my lightsaber...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBnY7VXKIeI_wpevO-1tt4BLogrRn5WxxrX4yCE4VdheeXfLmUJtp3R-u9QaRuLRjZ4qcxbETXgVp0hyphenhyphene9qmhxIs_KelxoVCnZL7qyAB9NX6ydRT6nEe2S4PEngx_maq84g/s1600/97784c0bedbeda84fd6da04fd30172a1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDBnY7VXKIeI_wpevO-1tt4BLogrRn5WxxrX4yCE4VdheeXfLmUJtp3R-u9QaRuLRjZ4qcxbETXgVp0hyphenhyphene9qmhxIs_KelxoVCnZL7qyAB9NX6ydRT6nEe2S4PEngx_maq84g/s320/97784c0bedbeda84fd6da04fd30172a1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Seriously? This is the cutest thing ever.</div>
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Visit our Star Wars <a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pyrbooks/may-the-4th-be-with-you/">Pinterest </a>page for the official "how-tos" and more ways to celebrate today.<br />
<br />Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27426598.post-41353364454154591362015-04-22T10:26:00.000-04:002015-04-22T10:26:05.521-04:00Earth Day Giveaway! (rhyming is fun)<div style="text-align: left;">
Happy EARTH Day! Seems like the perfect day to giveaway <b>ALL THREE </b>books in Janet Edwards' Earth Girl series, right?</div>
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Jarra is an ape, an outcast, stuck on a ruined Earth due to a rare defect that makes her unable to survive on other planets. She's already proven that she's just as tough as the norms, but her actions have repercussions that spread further than she ever could have imagined, and political unrest threatens to tear apart the delicate balance of peace between humanity's worlds. <br />
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<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/earthgirl.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQr4VX91kE6R4y0_I6BjmMt-juMIBRMgv99l2eoZdvn0pr5xcIFILRlsUHhJ1CsHLh1druFSn44G9t8P4rs6vifGXrz7ItJFoo9EPTqb5NhFKIpEWLsjcZA-9lY-6KH5P0A/s1600/Earth+Girl_cover.jpg" height="310" width="195" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://www.pyrsf.com/earthstar.html"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtqKmp9bZtl56YFCZr1DkpjR6eENKTuMzu5yS2AgXbs2ikk-Wd7V1VG57ROcx-zbKw3B99fCmf1wD9JnJoKNow7kRDWlnn1mPAaTvtGIvooM_aSO4wu1SCIuMqdK8F8DAgXA/s1600/Earth+Star_Cover.jpg" height="310" width="195" /></a></td>
<td><a href="http://edelweiss.abovethetreeline.com/ProductDetailPage.aspx?sequence=1&group=search&keywords=earth+flight&searchContext=&searchOrgID=&searchCatalogID=&searchMailingID=&sku=1633880923"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyxmXKBrV1UmPNdU3UIxE7vmrI46wyMaxWAbR3SbQENF_0QsZIobcROwIMd6JGwYaMOkmOObet2Kyp0ZMYT8997iYZ62nDlZXt2TXRmY4wZhBokQMaGVFHsxUmmpPOg1xmkw/s1600/Earth+Flight.jpg" height="310" width="195" /></a></td>
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<br /><br />The third and final book in the series, <i>Earth Flight</i>, doesn't even come out until September, but today's winner will receive an advance galley! Comment below, share this post on Twitter or Facebook, or e-mail publicity@prometheusbooks.com to enter. Multiple entries will only be counted once. One winner will be chosen tomorrow morning at 9 am ET.<div>
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Enter to win, then get outside and enjoy our planet!<br /><div>
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Lisa Kayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14578593003811737367noreply@blogger.com0