I was thumbing through an index of author's blogs the other day when Steven Brust's name popped out at me.  I immediately clicked that link and bookmarked that baby because he's the author of the Vlad Taltos series, one of my favorites.  As a matter of fact, I pretty much love everything this guy has done, but Vlad holds a special place in my heart.  He and his jhereg Loiosh.

I'm a bit dragon infatuated, truth be told.  My martial arts background really helped develop that because of the dragon's relationship to disciplines, none of which I actually practiced for more than, oooh ... a month ...  and it was called Green Dragon, if I recall.  White tiger, green dragon?  Something like that.  Anyway, I have a rather nice collection of dragons in my possession, most of whom have homes in my bookshelves when I do actually have bookshelves.

A place of pride on those shelves is my collection of Steven Brust.  Imagine a world where the Chinese 12-year cycle rules your lives, your personalities, your friends, your livelihood and vocation.  Dogs and Tigers and Horses would get along famously, but we'd have little patience for Dragons and their haughty ways or the rest of their triumvirate of friends.  We'd do business with others, but shy away from the Roosters and  their tight-fisted dealings with money.  We might worry about Rats sneaking into our homes at night or operating gambling dens or we might seek them out to hire them for a bit of dirty work.

Enter Brust's playground, the world of Dragaera and the home of Vlad Taltos, a Jhereg.  Here's a bit of alonger description from one of the fansites, "There are two major species: Easterners and Dragaerans. Dragaerans are an elf-like species who live thousands of years. Easterners are a more real-world human population with a life-span of approximately 100 years and have more human-like characteristics ... like facial hair. Both species call themselves "humans;" however, Dragaerans consider Easterners something less than human.

There are 17 Houses in the Dragaeran Empire each named after a species of animal in Dragaera. Each House has its own uniform/color-scheme and its own distinct personality. The House of the Jhereg is the only one that admits Easterners. It is the House of criminal enterprises, much like the mafia.

In Dragaera, there exists witchcraft (primarily utilized by Easterners), sorcery (which relies on the presence of the Orb), and then the illegal and volatile Elder Sorcery. The main character in this series, Vlad Taltos, plays with them all."

Vlad lives on the shady side of the street and has a real Jhereg as a pet, his familiar, Loiosh, who is as reverent a sidekick as, say Nargoth, would be, which is to say "not at all."  An assassin by trade, he trusts completely in his knife and blade, and a bit less so in the magical arts he employs. 

The series .. there are more than a few, probably more than "a lot," are all stand-alone adventures.  It matters not which order you read them in because Brust hasn't written them in chronological order.

Words, Words, Words, The Dreamcafé.
Steven Brust's blog

Now .. if this hasn't yet convinced you, I'm going to take you to visit the site of a free downloadable book .. a fanfiction, if you will. And I know you'll all be jumping right on the link at the bottom once you read this exceprt ...

I think I’m so civilized cause I’m living my life saying hello and good-bye

But all around me people make me so mad I could be spitting in their eye

So I’m no better than the bad criminals who hit, cheat, and burglarize

‘Cos compared to all of those neat super-heroes I am a mean-guy.

I always say please and thank you and you’re welcome, ‘cos I am very polite

But overdraft fees and automatic phone help makes me ready to fight

I don’t wanted to listen to idiots blab

I don’t want drink until I’m in rehab

I just want go into my secret lab and make like a mean guy.

I’m a mean guy I’m a mean mean guy

Oh, I’m a mean guy.

I’m a Green Goblin guy I’m a Venom guy, oh I’m a mean guy.

Cos compared to Spidey so strong and so brave

Compared to Batman in his bat cave

Compared to a boy who knows how to behave

I am a mean guy.

In man’s evolution he has created boundaries between every nation

Which is nothing but asking for guys like to me to go for world domination

Cos I’m happier than I might seem

When I’m with my hand-picked team

Making an invisible destructor beam

Cause I am a mean guy.

I’m a mean guy I’m a mean mean guy

Oh, I’m a mean guy.

I’m a Marvel guy I’m a D.C., oh I’m a mean guy.

I watch the world through my periscope

Hatching schemes that will work I hope

Maybe next week I’ll kidnap the Pope.

I am a mean guy.

Come on and join me, by my mean guy pal.

We’ll share the world, you can have Lonsdale.

I’m a mean guy I’m a mean mean guy

Oh, I’m a mean guy.

I’m a Green Goblin guy I’m a Venom guy, oh I’m a mean guy.

I’ll be your Joker you’ll be Harley Quinn

I’ll make you rich and you’ll make me win

If our plans our foiled we’ll just try again

I am a mean guy.

I’m a mean guy I’m a mean mean guy

Oh, I’m a mean guy.

I’m a Doc Oc guy I’m a Burglar guy, oh I’m a mean guy.

I want to own everything I see.

I’m Ayn Rand’s child by Bill Nietzsche

Until the superheroes catch up with me.

I’ll be a mean guy.

He always smiled when Serenity first kissed atmo.

That was the moment that separated pilots; a sloppy entry cost fuel, a perfect entry saved fuel, and the difference could be the difference between a healthy profit and a disastrous loss. When you kissed atmo, it was all touch; suddenly the number of variables increased by an order of magnitude: the shape of the ship, the tilt of her nose, the attitude adjusters, speed, direction, the density and exact composition of the upper atmosphere—all of it.

Mal never noticed, of course; none of them noticed. They'd only notice if he did it badly; then he would, no doubt, get all sorts of looks and remarks. And it would cut into his profits as it would the rest of the crew's.

But none of that was why he made his entries as close to perfect as humanly possible: he did it because it was what he loved doing. The challenges to a pilot in the black were rare, and usually involved some form of terror. But the first touch of atmo on a new planet, setting up the slide, the deceleration, balancing skin heat with fuel cost, inert-damp with gravity—feeling part of the boat in a way even Kaylee, bless her heart, could never know—those were the moments of living. That was the best.

He was aware of the first hint of rudder to port, and nose up, and then the thrust control was under his right hand; and after that for a while he could no longer follow the details, because he was no longer using controls—it wasn't cause and effect, it was just one long effect as distinctions blurred. Pilot to control, control to boat, boat to atmo, atmo to gravity, gravity to pilot: they were all the same thing as Serenity sang the song only Wash could hear. After an interminable twenty seconds that was over so quickly it may never have existed, the decisions were made, the hard part past, and everything was, alas, easy again. It was morning on this part of Hera.

From the co-pilot's chair, Mal said, "How's the entry?"

"It's an entry. They're all the same."

My Own Kind of Freedom
A Firefly Novel by Steven Brust
Yes, yes, click the picture for the link

With all the talk of Musketeers in the entertainment pages of my local newspaper, I thought I'd turn to one of my favorite genres for this week's column. 

I have to tell you, I'm excited about the movie for a couple of reasons.  First, swashbucklers at sea, swashbucklers in space or swashbucklers with swords .. I love 'em.  Can't get enough.  And secondly, Orlando Bloom in an evil role.  Let's see if he has more acting chops than an archly raised eyebrow.  I know, I know, I'm not being fair.  I love the dude and I just wish he could delight me as thoroughly in this role as Alan Rickman has in all his evil incarnations.

However, moving back to the written word from celluloid entertainment ... this week, I get to gleefully go back to my childhood where I waved my plastic sword at my brothers and chased them around the house with a towel tied around my neck for a cape.  Until we broke something.  Something always got broke. 

The Age of Chivalry comes to life under the deft hand of Dave Duncan.  In The Gilded Chain, we meet the residents of Ironhall, a bit of a ramshackle, sprawling castle and grounds that houses every level of swordsman imaginable.  From the rawest recruit to the most shining example, every level of learning comes with its own set of responsibilities and ways for wayward apprentices to mess up on the way to earning their sword.  

At the end of the training, The King's Visit is a time of special celebration as he binds his newest Blades to his service through a magical rite, changing their life immeasurably.  However, things can go wrong ... a hesitation in the rite may cost a life or students may find their new master intolerable. 

Or they may find that the king will bind them to another favorite courtier, a fate that relegates the swordsman to glory much less exalted or heralded in pubs by troubadours than being in the king's service.  Repute as a fine swordsman goes a long way to securing employment once released from the king's service, which will hopefully be decades in their future.

In terms of benefits, the binding is a pretty much a one-way street of bittersweet.  Sleep is no longer needed, but if the King dies, a  Blade will likely go insane and kill himself - if he doesn't actually kill others around them in his frenzy.  A King who declares war is likely going to live a shorter lifespan, a bit of a worrisome thing.  And King Ambrose is not a well liked man.
 

~~~ ◄•► ~~~

From The Gilded Chain

Roland considered drawing his sword and sliding it into Kromman until the blade would go no farther, then taking it out again--by another route, for variety. That would be an act of public service he should have performed a lifetime ago, but it would create a serious scandal. Word would flash across all Eurania that the King of Chivial‘s private secretary had been murdered by his lord chancellor, sending courtiers of a dozen capitals into fits of hysterical giggles. Lord Roland must behave himself. It was a pleasing fantasy, though.

Meanwhile, the winter night was falling. He still had work piled up like snowdrifts, a dozen petitioners waiting to see him, and no time to waste on this black-robed human fungus.

Patience! "As you well know, Master Secretary, such rumors go around every couple of years--rumors about me, about you, about many of the King‘s ministers." Ambrose probably started most of the stories himself, but if his chancellor said so to Kromman, Kromman would tattle back to him. "His Majesty has more sense than to listen to slander. Now, have you brought some business for me?"

"No, Lord Chancellor. No more business for you." Kromman was not hiding his enjoyment; he was up to something. Even in his youth, as a Dark Chamber inquisitor, he had been repugnant--spying and snooping, prying and plotting, maligning anyone he could not destroy. Now, with age-yellowed eyes and hair trailing like cobwebs out from under his black biretta, he had all the appeal of a corpse washed up on a beach. Even the King, who had few scruples, referred to him in private as rat poison. Some days he looked even worse, though. What secret joy was he savoring at the moment?
  

~~~ ◄•► ~~~

From Lord of the Firelands

Dealings were less civilized when youngsters were present. Adolescents and older children were ordered outside and herded down to the harbor for future consideration. In much less than an hour, Ambleport was stripped bare of valuables and its young people stood in a terrified huddle on the quay. There had been almost no resistance.

Almost none. Gerard had been fast asleep in the Green Man, blissfully dreaming of Charlotte. He was wakened by someone kicking in the door of the room next to his, and had just enough time to leap out of bed and snatch up his rapier. When his own door was smashed open by a red-bearded raider, he attacked.

He had never been in a fight in his life and had never expected to be. But he was a gentleman, and gentlemen sported either rapier or short sword. To gird on a weapon one could not use was folly, so he had taken lessons at a very respected school in Grandon--not many lessons, for his means were limited, but he was nimble and accurate. Alas, in this instance, also rash. The only crazy naked berserker in Ambleport that morning was Gerard of Waygarth. His victim looked more surprised than hurt when the steel point went through his beard and up into his brain, but he folded down to his knees and collapsed on his shield and ax in a entirely appropriate manner.

Another Bael filled the doorway behind him--younger, shorter, and broader. With a blood-chilling scream he leaped over his fallen comrade. His shield brushed Gerard‘s rapier aside like a twig and slammed its owner back into the wall hard enough to stun. The fight was over even before the raider brought up his knee. This technique was not taught in the gentlemen‘s fencing schools.

~~~ ◄•► ~~~

From Sky of Swords

Strategy . . . she must think strategy. She must still have supporters plotting on her behalf, although of course they dare do little while she was a prisoner. As long as she lived, rightful Queen of Chivial, the Usurper could not rest easy on his ill-gotten throne. Assassination was what she had expected; for half a year she had waited for poison or poniard or the silken noose. Every new dawn had been a surprise. Public execution was not a possibility she had seriously considered until the warrant of this inquiry was thrust in her hand the previous day. A public trial she had never even dreamed of. Perhaps Lord Chancellor Whatever-his-name-was-now did not have Parliament quite s tame s he would like, if the Usurper had been forced to stage this farce.

Dare she consider the faint possibility that she might not be going to die of it? Alas, when hope flickered, the rage that had sustained her waned and give way to fear, so that the skin on her arms puckered in gooseflesh and her fingers began to shake. She was on trial for her life and the deck stacked against her.

The clerk had stopped.

One of the peers jumped in with a question . . . " . . . that you conspired to effect the murder of your father, His Late Majesty Ambrose IV--"

"No!" she snapped. "I deny that charge utterly."

"How would you describe your relations with your father? Warm? Loyal? Dutiful?"

"It was no secret," Malinda said deliberately. "As a child I was taught to hate him, fear him, and despise him. When I was old enough to make up my own mind, I found no reason to those opinions." After all, he had driven his first two wives insane and murdered the third; his fourth was to be a girl of seventeen, a month younger than his daughter. "I sincerely believe that he was a strong and effective king of Chivial and the realm has suffered greatly from his untimely death. In his private life he was a tyrant, and I never loved him, but his death was not something I planned or desired."

She had never intended to kill him. That had been an oversight.

~~~ ◄•► ~~~

Dave Duncan is easily one of my favorite authors and not just because we shared a hometown until fairly recently.   He has an uncomplicated writing style, character motives are understandable and he draws a comprehensive picture of the period, the era in which the courtiers, swordsmen and nobility of Chivial live.


Each one of the King's Blades books stand alone, and indeed, there are more than the three I've covered here.  I believe you can get some of them in omnibus versions.  There are also collections of short stories to more fully round out the tales.


Click on the Dave Duncan masthead near the top to to go his website.

While most of us would grab wildly at a chance to exhilaratedly soar the skies on the back of a dragon, for straight-laced Captain Will Laurence of Reliant, it is an infamous deed to be braved stoically, as such things are done when you commit your life to His Majesty's Navy.

"Though the men of the Corps were honored without question for their courage and devotion to duty, the prospect of entering their ranks could not be appealing to any gentleman raised up in respectable society." 

A promising young captain on the path to greater things, Will Laurence and his crew capture a French frigate and its cargo, tagged at easily worth a 100-gun ship once they discover its valuable cargo.  Unfortunately, there will be no reward from the admiralty for the dragon egg because, through circumstances that seem like ill luck, the egg will hatch before they can return to port. It is the captain's sad duty to assign a man to attempt to harness the hatchling.

“No man here has any training for the task, and the only fair means of assigning the duty is by lot. Naturally, those gentlemen with family are excused. Mr. Pollitt,” he said, turning to the surgeon, who had a wife and four children in Derbyshire, “I hope that you will draw the name for us. Gentlemen, you will each write your name upon a sheet here, and cast it into this bag.” He suited word to deed, tore off the part of the sheet with his name, folded it and put it into the small sack.

Although another name has been chosen, to Will's private relief,  once the young dragon arrives, he has his own ideas.

A low buzz of conversation was spreading as the officers and hands felt the moment passing. Soon he would have to give it up and take thought to confining the beast, to keep it from flying off after they fed it. Still exploring, the dragon came past him; it sat up on its haunches to look at him inquisitively, and Laurence gazed down at it in unconcealed sorrow and dismay.

It blinked at him; he noticed its eyes were a deep blue and slit-pupilled, and then it said, “Why are you frowning?”

Silence fell at once, and it was only with difficulty that Laurence kept from gaping at the creature. Carver, who must have been thinking himself reprieved by now, was standing behind the dragon, mouth open; his eyes met Laurence’s with a desperate look, but he drew up his courage and stepped forward, ready to address the dragon once more.

Laurence stared at the dragon, at the pale, frightened boy, and then took a deep breath and said to the creature, “I beg your pardon, I did not mean to. My name is Will Laurence; and yours?”

No discipline could have prevented the murmur of shock which went around the deck. The dragonet did not seem to notice, but puzzled at the question for several moments, and finally said, with a dissatisfied air, “I do not have a name.”

Laurence had read over Pollitt’s books enough to know how he should answer; he asked, formally, “May I give you one?”

It–or rather he, for the voice was definitely masculine–looked him over again, paused to scratch at an apparently flawless spot on his back, then said with unconvincing indifference, “If you please.”

And now Laurence found himself completely blank. He had not given any real thought to the process of harnessing at all, beyond doing his best to see that it occurred, and he had no idea what an appropriate name might be for a dragon. After an awful moment of panic, his mind somehow linked dragon and ship, and he blurted out, “Temeraire,” thinking of the noble dreadnought which he had seen launched, many years before: that same elegant gliding motion. 

And so begins Will Laurence's life with the extraordinary dragon Temeraire, a new career with the British Royal Air Corps and adventures that he could not possibly have dreamed.

If you take the world of sailing ships from the era of Master and Commander and marry it with the aerial defenses from the world of Pern, and toss in a twist on the Napoleonic wars .. you have the world of Laurence and Temeraire.

I show only the five covers of the books I've read in this series, but there are six published, with a seventh in production.  Ms. Novik has claimed to be ending the series at nine books.

I highly enjoyed the series and do recommend it.  Peter Jackson has optioned the works and in an interview with Ain't It Cool News, Mr. Jackson talked about the project:

What I'm thinking of with Temeraire, and I'm certainly happy to share it with you... it's only really my very initial, early stages... but Naomi (Novik, author of the Temeraire books) came out to New Zealand to visit us with her husband... she's absolutely terrific...

She's now starting to whisper to me that she's going to be writing 9 books in the Temeraire series. I can't see any degree of common sense in trying to mount them one at a time as feature films. To me the stories, having read the first ones, already work as this continuing, on-going saga, so I'm thinking "Is there a marketplace out there yet for a large budget mini-series?"

I guess you'd think of things like HBO and you'd think of Band of Brothers and that sort of thing, but it'd be different than that. The market's changing so much, TV networks are changing, so I'm thinking is there actually a market out there that'd give us the budget to do this properly and allow us to shoot this as a 6, 7 or 8 part series where we have freedom, we have great production values and are able to tackle it as the epic saga that it deserves.

I just can't see doing one expensive movie and if that's successful you get to do another one, but if the second one isn't quite as good maybe there'll never be a third one... I just don't see that fitting with the property at all.
 

So my thinking is... and I'm talking to you here having absolutely no plans in place, no deal in place... and I wouldn't. What I would do is I'd start developing the treatment, I'd start to break the storylines down to see if we can structure it in that way. I've already started to do designs. I've had Weta Workshop do a lot of work on designing the characters... the dragons... I've been working with Gus Hunter on the designs. We're well underway creating the visual look.

In 2010 one of the things I'll be doing is looking at starting the scripting process and structuring and using it to see if we can't set the project up in that way because I think that'd be the best to serve the story.

Click the picture below for Naomi Novik's site:

When I first started playing World of Warcraft, I chose a night elf hunter on the Alliance side, fighting the good battles, defending small towns and villages against gnolls, trolls and the evil horde.  There was no question, I was defending the light against the dark pustulence of the horde and Hogger.

I didn't know how much fun it could be to be horde and not have to worry about the rules.  Until I met Richard.  Richard is a henchman who refuses to be comically inept, somewhat of a radical departure from the normal role of a fun sidekick.  There is comic genius in him though.

Before we meet him, we should greet the star of the web comic, Looking For Group.   This is Cale'anon, an elven hunter looking for all that is good in the world.  It's just too bad that he's a blood elf hunter, but Richard will be sure to set him straight on the vagaries of hordeship.  The web comic is based on World of Warcraft, right down to costumes and hairstyles you'd see on any starting zone character.

On his journeys, Cale picks up an ensemble of stalwart companions you might otherwise meet inside the busy trade valley of Orgrimmar.  A troll priest, dwarven blacksmith, an undead warlock, taurens, orcs, *deep breath* and sisters and sons as well as gnomish engineers. 


In reading over the back issues again, I'm tempted to think that at the outset, Cale'anon didn't have an overlying story arc, other than to be a comic foil for Richard.  And oh, Richard plays him wonderfully.


And with that, I think it's time we meet the warlock who is the source of much of my amusement.  I think I'll let him introduce himself .. he has a knack for the dramatic.

Over time, the characters and story mature ... Cale'anon takes on the role of a savior of a number of displaced peoples, they travel to the past to gain access to a pair of swords in Kethenicia as part of a larger quest, and the whole journey takes on the scope of an epic tale.   Years of pages later, there are still stories unfolding with each of the adventurers.  I have, many times over the past year, clicked my LFG link anxiously or excitedly waiting to see what's going on with my friends.

Tolkein may have penned the ultimate epic quest; Lar DeSouza and Ryan Sohmer have drawn its equal.  Pacing and plot go hand in hand with some of the best drawing skills on the 'net today.  The story that began as character profiles now has the earmarks of a first rate story.

Our gang of adventurers meets a great many groups in their travels, some of whom reappear, some who Richard quietly makes disappear.   Or not so quietly.  In the midst of battle, Richard's finest work is set to the accompaniment of showtunes, another passion he holds in his undead heart.  Here then, is Richard in "Slaughter Your  World."



LFG updates Mondays and Thursdays.  Click the link below to catch up on back issues.  Happy reading!