Mike Arram
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The Graf Almaric took a grip of Serge’s arm and guided him into the stream of courtiers in the immediate wake of the Crown Prince. Wilhelm von Strelsau took his other side. Of the Graf Aloysius, the First Groom, there was no sign, or at least he hadn’t joined their part of the royal entourage. The king, the queen and the prince seated themselves in a line of gilded chairs set at the entrance to the stalls in the choir, along with other favoured courtiers. Almaric’s firm direction pushed Serge in
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Serge and Jan carefully led their horses through the morning streets of the city of Strelsau, crowded with hawkers, strollers and sweepers. Then there were the riders on horseback and the well-dressed people in curious little windowed boxes, carried by porters. It was a Sunday and the bells of the city were ringing out from its church towers. Serge at least had some acquaintance with cities, even if Strelsau was a different order of settlement from Glottenburg, which was more like a large town
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‘Er … Sir? Master?’ The voice from behind broke in on Serge’s internal meditations. He reined in his plodding mount and looked around. For a moment he was quite taken aback by the view. Without his being aware of it the winding and ascending track had taken them high up the mountainside and quite close now to the head of the Murranberg pass, and behind them the broad valley of the Arndt spread open to view till it melted into the far, blue distance. He caught the glitter of reflected sunlig
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It is the year 1690 and Europe is at war. In the East the Great Turkish War still rumbles on and in the West the Empire is barely holding off the hostile Christian power of Louis XIV's France. In the middle are the divided Rothenian lands, its two rival realms in uneasy peace. Through all this human conflict young Sergius von Tarlenheim seeks to make a career at the Ruritanian court, where he finds unexpected friends and mysterious enemies. But unknown to him greater conflicts by far are beginning in the World Beyond, where notice is being taken of the changing nature of humankind and rival factions are forming in response.
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Justin had no time to consider a plan. The son he loved was in the room below with three armed mercenaries. A father could do no other than he did. He dropped catlike down the chimney and landed on the empty hearth, gun at the ready. He took it all in quickly. Damien was standing in a box, where perhaps he had been hiding. The lid had fallen back and he had his hands in the air as three startled mercenaries stared at him, only two of them with guns in their hands. When they heard Justin l
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The click of the lock worried Damien as he sat crouched in his refuge. He found the chest, though wrought of iron panels, was lined with an aromatic wood. That and his small size meant he was not in any discomfort. He had thought he might hear noises from the men he had hidden from, but the chamber outside seemed perfectly still. Eventually he decided to try the lid and see if he could open it a crack to peek out. Bracing himself, he pushed against it with his back. It was heavy but rose so
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Prema looked up, disturbed from his worries about Vedayah by the return of Hooknose and Recic, who peered out of the French windows which opened on to the monastery’s back terrace. While seeming to inspect the positions their men had taken along the rear of the house, they conversed in Rothenian, which Prema could follow. Hooknose chuckled. ‘It’s time to deal, Recic. They think this is a simple hostage drama, but what they need to know is that all Rothenia is the hostage for their good beha
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Rudolf clung on to the hatch coaming as his command vehicle roared and bucked its way across the rough terrain over which the mercenaries – and possibly Josseran – had fled. The IFVs were travelling in a ragged line down through the trees to the river Vwyszh. Suddenly bullets pinged and ricocheted off the armour protecting the king. ‘Incoming!’ yelled the sergeant. The turret rotated towards the source of the shots and let off several rounds of cannon fire. Heavy machine guns chattered from the
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Actually, that's a story in itself. I tend to borrow well-known plots (cos I'm a little lazy) - Alike in Dignity was a tale of Roman and Julius. Guess the inspiration. This one not so easy. But work it out. The hero is Justin Peacher-White. A wicked step mother is out to murder him. He's hauled off to be murdered in a forest. He's saved and given refuge in a cottage in the woods in which are living seven weirdos. The Green Side may then make you think of a certain poisoned apple ...? Doesn't fit exactly, I know, as Justy already has his prince. Still, give me marks for trying.
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Rudolf, king of Rothenia, had made his dispositions. The special forces élite riding in the Warriors were going to make an all-out assault through the Blue Side into the Red Zone. It was clear that the Rothenians had the advantage of surprise. Josseran and his mercenaries could not have expected the counterattack this early, not with the disruption caused by the communications blackout across Rothenia and the Czech Republic. Rudolf knew that the majority of the enemy was concentrated in the
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The woods rustled in the dark as the night wind took the branches and shook them about. Danny and Gus hurried along the path till, through the noise of the trees, they heard the gurgle of a stream ahead. Danny pulled Gus into the margins of the forest. Still hand in hand, they moved more cautiously towards the sound of the little river Vwyszh. They were heading steadily downhill now. It was Gus who tugged Danny to a halt as voices reached them. In the moonlight, they could see a party of me
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Damien Macavoy woke to an explosion that shook the windows of his bedroom and caused plaster to fall from the ceiling. The nightlight flickered out momentarily. During the brief delay before it came on again, he heard the beginning of a grumbling roar like a giant stirring in the depths of the building. Reggie sat up, looking bewildered. ‘What is it, Daimey?’ ‘Sounds like a fookin’ war’s broken out!’ He shot from the bed. It was still dark outside. ‘What time’s it, Reggie?’ ‘Only
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Justin rode between Vedayah and Prema in the front seat of the Volkswagen van heading back up the A44 to Ranstadt. Once the two monks had resumed their monastic robes, he felt seriously odd sitting with them. It was if he was naked. It didn’t seem to bother the other two in the least – but then, they were used to it. In a way, the drive was even sexy. Justin’s arse was bare on the seat and his heavy balls were loose and flopping around in ways they never had done before. ‘So … er … you
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Justin struggled, but there was no shifting the plastic ties that cut into his wrists. It had been so easy for his kidnappers. With no warning of gangs operating in Rothenia, he had been totally unprepared. He blamed himself. Yet blame got him nowhere, and this was not the first time Justin had been in such a situation. He shivered when he remembered the days he’d spent at the mercy of a psychopath who had claimed to be his father. But as he had survived that, so he would survive this. He h
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It was Wednesday morning. All over Rothenia men and women were waking up and addressing the day’s business, beginning with the choice of what to have for breakfast. In Fridricsgasse 2273 there was never much debate on that point. Nathan already had the outsize box of Cheerios on the table, a jug of milk beside it. He alone of the family varied his routine, which today was a cinnamon bagel and sliced apple. However, since Reggie had slept over with Damien, Nathan’s greater resources would be call
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Prema perched a peaked leather cap on his shaven head. There were no mirrors in the monastery outside the guest rooms, but he remembered the angle he liked to put his hats at when he used to cruise Canal Street as a teenager. Vedayah looked around the door and grinned. ‘Cute, baby.’ He came in, adjusted the cap and kissed Prema. ‘Ya look like a model. Very sexy. Where did you find this stuff?’ Prema spun on the spot, displaying his tight, muscular backside clothed in blue denim. ‘You l
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‘I like the garden.’ Nathan was jotting notes down as they surveyed the third property that weekend. ‘The house is okay too. They done out the bathrooms nice. Loves the sauna cabin out the back, an’ there’s a gym … oh fuckin’ hell, where’s he gone now? When did you last see him?’ ‘Damien? He was with us before we came upstairs.’ Justin looked deep into his own mind as he calculated where his son might have gone. What would he have been drawn to as a kid? ‘The gym!’ he cursed.
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The party was over. Gus and Danny were picking up litter from the lawns and around the pool and stashing it in black plastic bags. Justin was at the front door paying the man from the bouncy-castle hiring firm, while Nathan was chatting with Moira and Esther at the poolside. In the meantime, Damien was sitting with Reggie up in his room. They were playing on Damien’s XBox 360, but Reggie was not doing too well at their game. ‘C’mon Reggie. This in’t like you. You’re good at Final Comma
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Danny leaned smiling against the corridor wall outside the lecture hall. It was late morning. Classes in the Rodolfer Universität did not usually begin until after eleven. Too many of the students survived by evening and night-time jobs, and it would have been impracticable to start classes early. The lecturing staff did not complain, since they used the first part of the morning for committee meetings or research. Casually greeting his fellows in Rothenian, Danny felt cool. He had been see
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‘Hey!’ hissed a voice behind Damien, who was shouldering his pack and waving goodbye to his dad’s SUV as it accelerated up the hill to Bernenstejnegasse. ‘Oh! ‘Lo Reggie.’ ‘Anatole’s after you.’ Damien gave a fierce little grin. ‘Yuh? Better hope he finds me then. Could do wiv the laff.’ ‘No. It’s not funny! He’s talked some Year 6 Russian guys into taking you out. They’re waiting for you in the yard. They’re real big.’ Damien stood calculating the situation for a moment
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Hi Clancy You may find what you want here http://awesomedude.com/mike_arram/henry-and-the-eschaton/he_01.htm
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It was midday and Damien Macavoy wandered out of his homeroom looking for the lunch hall. The other kids flooded past him chattering in groups. Damien wanted to stop one of them and ask the way, but somehow he couldn’t. He felt uncharacteristically shy and lost. At that moment a heavy whack on the head took Damien by surprise. A big lad in a passing group had slung his bag round his shoulder and into Damien’s head just as he was level with the smaller boy. ‘Ouch! That fookin’ hurt!’ Da
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I do indeed. Part of my learning arc as a writer, but never quite happy with them
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‘Damien Macavoy!’ ‘Yuh, miss.’ The class tittered. Mrs Waldeck looked at Damien over her glasses. ‘“Here!” will do as a reply, Damien. And you don’t call me “miss”.’ ‘Oh.’ Damien blushed, and resented blushing. ‘What does I call yer then?’ Another slow stare. ‘Mrs Waldeck. Now, let’s get on …’ Damien dropped his head to his desk moodily. This was not the safe world of his little village primary school in Suffolk, which he had turned into his own private fiefdom: charming
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