Here's an except from the third and final story in the collection, "Earthfall," about a royal tax collector who gets in over his head outside a mountaintop hamlet.
“Wake up, Thief!” Astrid was kicking his shoulder.
Breakfast was eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes, a mixed fruit platter, flaky pastries, and coffee with sugar refined by secret southling processes to the whiteness of the noonday sky. Astrid kicked Roger harder, and he woke up to a bowl of jerky and a mug of fermented yak’s milk. “Look, Thief. Closely.” She was pointing at the Being’s breastplate. It was pierced; the hole was jagged, and big around as Spider’s stone hut.
“That’s a big, big hole.”
“It’s a big, big Celestial Being. Look closer.” She pointed again, but since she was still pointing, it just looked like a wave of irritation moved from her shoulder, down her arm, and out her finger, then the wave, now visibly moving through the morning mist, washed up several stories, and disappeared through the gaping wound.
“Hey…” Roger leaned forward. “That crest. It looks… I mean the hole rips across it… I can’t be sure.”
“You’re sure.”
I hope you've enjoyed these excerpts. You'll be able to get the e-book soon!
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