Today I have another wonderful book and author interview for you! Let’s go see 🙂
Genre: Dark Epic Fantasy
Publisher: Scimitar Press
ISBN: 9781465716651 Smashwords
ISBN: 1230000010279 Kobo
Number of pages: 400
Word Count: 150,000
Demon-possessed siege commander, Dahoud, atones for his atrocities by hiding his identity and protecting women from war’s violence – but can he shield the woman he loves from the evil inside him?
Principled weather magician, Merida, brings rain to a parched desert land. When her magical dance rouses more than storms, she needs to overcome her scruples to escape from danger.
Thrust together, Dahoud and Merida must fight for freedom and survival. But how can they trust each other, when hatred and betrayal burn in their hearts?
‘Storm Dancer’ is a dark epic fantasy. Caution: this book contains some violence and disturbing situations. Not recommended for under-16s. British spellings.
Book Trailer http://youtu.be/tI5oxeOziQM
Note: Storm Dancer has dark elements which some readers may find disturbing. Not recommended for readers under 16, not suitable for YA blogs.
Contains British English. Some words, spellings, grammar and punctuation will be different than American English.
Even in the shade of the graffiti-carved olive tree, the air sang with heat. Dahoud listened to the hum of voices in the tavern garden, the murmured gossip about royals and rebels. If patrons noticed him, they would only see a young clerk sitting among the lord-satrap’s followers, a harmless bureaucrat. Dahoud planned to stay harmless.
The tavern bustled with women – whiteseers hanging about in the hope of earning a copper, traders celebrating deals, bellydancers clinking finger cymbals – women who neither backed away from him nor screamed.
The youngest of the entertainers wound her way between the benches towards their table, the tassels on her slender hips bouncing, the rows of copper rings on her sash tinkling with every snaky twist. Since she seemed nervous, as if it was her first show, he sent her an encouraging smile. Ignoring him, she shimmied to Lord Govan.
The djinn slithered inside Dahoud, stirring a stream of fury, whipping his blood into a hot storm. Would she dare to disregard the Black Besieger? What lesson would he teach to punish her insolence?
Dahoud stared past her sweat-glistening torso, the urge to subdue her washing over him in a boiling wave. For three years, he had battled against the djinn’s temptations. To indulge in fantasies would batter his defences and breach his resistance. He focused on the flavours on his tongue, the tart citron juice and the sage-spiced mutton, on the tender texture of the meat.
Govan clasped the dancer’s wrist and drew her close. “Come, honey-flower, let’s see your blossoms.”
She tried to pull herself from his grip. Panic painted her face. Against a lesser man’s groping, she might defend herself with slaps and screams, but this was the lord-satrap. She was too young to know how to slip out of such a situation, and none of her older colleagues on the far side of the garden noticed her plight. The other clerks at the table laughed.
“My Lord,” Dahoud said. “She doesn’t want your attentions.”
“She’s only a bellydancer.” Contempt oiled Govan’s voice. Still, he released the girl’s hand, slapped her on the rump, and watched her scurry towards the safety of the musicians. “These performers are advertised as genuine Darrians. I have a mind to have them arrested for fraud. I suspect …” He ran the tip of his finger along his eating bowl. “They’re mere Samilis.”
Dahoud, himself a Samili, refused to react to the jab. Govan was not only satrap of the province, but Dahoud’s employer, as well as the father of the lovely Esha.
“Samilis are everywhere these days.” Peering down his nose, Govan swirled the wine in his beaker. “Not that I have anything against Samilis. Given the right kind of education, their race can develop remarkable intelligence, practically equal to that of Quislakis. They can make valuable contributions to society.” He stroked the purple fringe of his armband, insignia of his rank. “Provided they respect their betters.”
The other clerks at the table bobbed their chins in eager agreement.
Dahoud the Black Besieger would not have tolerated taunts from this pompous peacock, but Dahoud the council clerk had to bow. Submission was the price for guarding his secret.
At the entry arch, a short man in the yellow tunic and turban of a royal rider was consulting with the tavern keeper.
“Is that messenger looking for you, my Lord?” Dahoud asked.
Govan shifted into his official pose and summoned the man with a flick of his sandalwood fan. The courier walked on bowed legs as if he still had a mount between his thighs. Conversations halted, glances followed him, and whiteseers peered, anticipating business.
Lord Govan put on his official smile to receive the leather-wrapped parcel.
“Forgive me, my Lord,” the herald said. “The message I carry is for Dahoud, the clerk.”
Govan’s hand pulled back and his smile vanished.
Dahoud’s stomach went cold: The Queen or her Consort would not write to an ordinary clerk. After three years of respite, his anonymity was breached. He stripped off the camel-skin wrap and broke the scroll’s seal. The ends of the purple ribbon dropped into the mutton sauce.
“The High Lord Kirral, Consort to the Great Luminous Queen, greets Dahoud, council clerk in the satrapy of Idjlara: Present yourself at the palace without delay. The Queendom needs the Black Besieger. K.”
The expansive curves of the signature “K” claimed more space on the parchment than the message.
In his bowl, the uneaten mutton was going cold, whitish grease separating from the sauce. A large fly drifted belly-up in the liquid, its legs clawing for a hold in the air. The memories of siege warfare wrapped around Dahoud, those sour-sweet odours of fear and faeces, of disease and burning flesh.
At twenty-five, he had a conscience heavier than a brick-carrier’s tray and more curses on his head than a camel had fleas. He had left the legion to cut himself off temptation, to deprive the djinn of fodder. After a siege, rape was legal, a soldier’s right, practically expected of him, part of the job. By returning to war, he would forfeit his victories over his craving. The djinn would again be his master.
Yet he ached to wear the general’s cloak again, to silence sneering bureaucrats, to make women take notice. He lusted for that power the way a heavy drinker, deprived of his solace, ached for a sip of wine. The yearning to wield a sword ached in his arms, his chest throbbed with the urge to command, and his loins flamed with the dark desire. He felt the panting breaths of women and their hot resisting bodies, smelled the scent of female fright and sweating fury.
“Why is the Consort writing to you?” Govan leant forward to grab the document. “You’re out of your depth with royal matters. I’ll read and explain.”
“Why should I want your counsel?” Dahoud tucked the rolled parchment into his belt.
“Don’t get pert, Samili!” Govan barked. “Give me that letter.”
“The Consort summons.” Dahoud rose. “Good afternoon, my Lord. Don’t expect me back soon.”
He strode to the exit, his mind reeling like a spindle. Could he deny that he was the Black Besieger? Refuse a royal order? Lead an army without stimulating the djinn?
On a low stone wall near the entrance gate, a row of whiteseers perched like hungry birds. Whiteseers had glimpses of futures others could not even imagine. One of them slid off the wall and sauntered in his direction. A coating of pale clay covered her sharp-boned triangular face and her long hair, and painted black and blue rings adorned her clay-whitened arms.
“Your hands,” she demanded.
“I need to know what will happen if -”
“Give your copper to a soothsayer,” she snapped. “We white ones only give advice. We can see the future; we can see several futures for everyone, but we won’t tell you all we see.”
“Advice is all I want.”
“That’s what they all say. Yet everyone asks for more. I give one piece of advice, the best I can give to help a client. They always demand that I tell them what I see. Well, I won’t.” Nevertheless, she grabbed the copper ring from Dahoud’s fingers and threaded it on her neck-thong. Her tunic smelled of old sweat and mouldy wool.
She grasped his hands to pinch their flesh, her long nails tickling. Her white paint contrasted with Dahoud’s bronze tan. When she felt the pulse and lifted his hand to her face to listen and sniff, he could have sworn he saw her blanch under the white clay as her closed eyes stared into his past. She sagged forward and stayed in a silent slouch.
At last she straightened, her eyes wide, her mouth open, but no words burst forth. So she had seen what he had done, and worse, what he might do once more.
“I assure you, I’ll never again…”
“I can’t read if you chatter.” She frowned at his hands. “My advice: Get stronger arms.”
He flexed his biceps, startled. “My arms are strong! I do trickriding, I wrestle, I lift weights.” Every night, Dahoud exercised until his muscles screamed, to block out his cravings and punish his body for its desires.
The seer’s mouth curled with contempt, making more clay crumble. “You’re not listening. I didn’t say strong. I said stronger.” She pinched his biceps. “Much stronger.”
“What difference can arm muscles make?”
“I told you to give your copper to a soothsayer.” She ambled off, leaving a cloud of unwashed stink and crumbles of clay.
Dahoud hurried to the stable to ready his horse. He had to persuade the Consort not to send the Black Besieger back to war.
First, tell me a little about your book…
Storm Dancer is a dark epic fantasy novel with a flawed hero. Dahoud is a siege commander, possessed by a demon. He fights to protect women from war’s violence, but how can he shield the woman he loves from from the evil inside him?
Do you recall how your interest in writing originated or did you always just know?
As soon as I realised there were people who wrote stories, I wanted to be one of them. I was four or five.
Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
The places and characters exist only in my imagination; I like making things up. However, many inspiration come from real life. For the fantasy world, I’ve drawn on places where I’ve lived and travelled – Asia, Europe, North Africa, the Middle East. Some of the characters have personality traits I’ve observed in real life people, although I like to mix them up so no real person finds their way into my books.
My own experiences are fertile material for fiction. I used to perform semi-professionally as a bellydancer, so I could write with authenticity about how the heroine in Storm Dancer learns the dance and performs it in a tavern.
Years ago, I went on an assignment as a development aid worker to a remote part of northern China. I had been promised a heated, furnished flat with running water. When I arrived, the flat was a ruin, the windows broken, no water, no furniture, no heating, and a blizzard was raging outside. I survived the freezing night by piling all my clothes on top of me. In the morning, I confronted my employer and requested that he honour the contract. He shrugged. “I’m a busy man. I don’t have time to keep my promises.”
I adapted this experience for Storm Dancer. Merida is a weather magician, sent by her government to bring rain to a distant, drought-parched country. When she arrives, she finds the promised private apartment doesn’t exist. Instead, she has to sleep in a grimy, noisy dormitory. She complains, and is told: “I am a busy man.” His voice had the low-humming hiss of a wasp hovering over rotting fruit. “I do not have time to keep promises.”
This was just the start. Things got worse for me in China, and they get worse for Merida in Quislak.
What book are you reading now? Or what genre?
I’m a rapid reader, devouring a book almost every day. I like fantasy, horror, thrillers, historical, and non-fiction books.
Who designed the cover? And do you help with them?
I enjoy working with artists for my book covers. It’s exciting to watch them translate my stories and visual characters into visual art. For Storm Dancer, two artists were involved, Erica Syverson and Paul Davies. Both are fantasy illustrators. Paul painted most of the character and some of the background, and Erica painted much of the background and some of the character. I’m in awe of their skill and I admire the art they’ve created.
Before I commission a cover illustrations, I have a clear vision of what I want – the character, the background, the overall design, the colours, the mood – and I give the artist clear instructions. Then the artist does a sketch, interpreting my vision with their own. It’s always thrilling to see what they come up with. I’m involved in all stages of the process, giving feedback and requesting changes along the way.
For the new Storm Dancer cover, I knew that I wanted the same colour scheme as the old one, but the character needed to be more masculine. I also knew I wanted ominous storm clouds in the background. Paul came up with this dynamic pose for the character which is much more exciting than the one I had before, and Erica painted the dramatic clouds.
I invited my fans who had read Storm Dancer to contribute their vision of what Dahoud looks like, to have a look at the painting in progress and tell us if we got it right. This was fun (though much work for the artists) and I think the result is awesome!
At one stage, the character was almost perfect, and I couldn’t put my finger on what wasn’t right. Then, while I had the file open in GIMP (digital design software), I accidentally splotched a thin line on Dahoud’s cheek. I was about to click “undo” when I realised that it looked great. That was what had been missing all along. I asked Erica to paint a scar in exactly that spot – and everyone agrees that it’s perfect. I’ve even received fan mail about that scar.
I like to design my own book covers with the commissioned illustrations. When I was stuck with where to place the lettering for this cover, Paul came up with this solution in the style of a movie poster. I like it a lot.
Both artists have created book covers for me before. Paul Davies http://www.pdportraits.co.uk paints mostly fantasy and science fiction illustrations. Erica Syverson http://komicks.com/ specialises in fantasy, supernatural and horror images.
Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers?
Storm Dancer is quite dark in places, so it’s not for everyone. You may want to download the free sample chapters. That’s the great thing about ebooks: you can see if it’s your kind of book before you buy.
About Rayne Hall
Rayne Hall has published more than forty books under different pen names with different publishers in different genres, mostly fantasy, horror and non-fiction. Recent books include Storm Dancer (dark epic fantasy novel), Six Scary Tales Vol 1, 2 and 3 (mild horror stories), Six Historical Tales (short stories), Six Quirky Tales (humorous fantasy stories), Writing Fight Scenes, The World-Loss Diet and Writing Scary Scenes (instructions for authors).
She holds a college degree in publishing management and a masters degree in creative writing. Currently, she edits the Ten Tales series of multi-author short story anthologies: Bites: Ten Tales of Vampires, Haunted: Ten Tales of Ghosts, Scared: Ten Tales of Horror, Cutlass: Ten Tales of Pirates, Beltane: Ten Tales of Witchcraft, Spells: Ten Tales of Magic, Undead: Ten Tales of Zombies and more.
Giveaway is an ebook of “The Colour of Dishonour – Stories from the Storm Dancer World”.
Leave me a comment to win! 🙂 Good Luck!!
Thanks everyone for stopping by today and to the author for that wonderful interview! I had a blast and I hope to see you guys back soon! Happy reading and later gators!