The Kind Of Books I Write: I Expand Friday’s Answer!
On Friday, I made as start on answering the question:
“So what kind of books do you write?” (Anywayz… 😉 )
But then realised I had not provided any samples from the books.
Primarily, I talked about The Wall Of Night series as being ‘epic fantasy’ or ‘high fantasy’, although some people have called it ‘dark fantasy’ as well. It’s also been called ‘legendary’ or ‘mythic fantasy’ — so as you can see, in choosing a ‘handle’, there are several options. 🙂
The two books currently published in the Wall Of Night series are:
The Heir Of Night — winner of the Gemmell Morningstar Award 2012 for “Best Fantasy Debut”
The Gathering Of the Lost — finalist in the 2013 Gemmell legend Award for “Best Fantasy Novel”
Daughter Of Blood, the third novel in the series, is forthcoming in January 2016 — and the UK cover was revealed here last week!
But back to what kind of stories I write and those samples. As well as being ‘high-epic-dark-legendary-mythic’ fantasy, I also said these stories tend to be:
Adventurous:
Malian placed her right palm on the table. The surface felt cool as flowing water, and … her whole being was infused with light; she felt intensely and gloriously alive with it and could sense the Old Keep, with all its silent levels, rising above her. She shot up through them like an arrow burning through darkness, past the enormity of empty rooms and vast echoing corridors. The chill of long neglect numbed her but she forced herself on, coming at last to the tiled halls and wooden galleries of the upper levels. From there, it was only a very short journey into the New Keep with its lights and warmth and life, a life that was muted now in sleep.
Too much sleep. Malian could feel the silence of death and smell congealing blood. She was aware, too, of the dark malice of her enemies, regrouping now from the hunt and preparing to attack again …
~ The Heir Of Night: The Wall of Night Book One; Chapter 4 — Call To Arms
Magical:
The fog in front of him lifted slowly and drifted apart, revealing the tall figure of a man. His back was turned to Kalan and a long black cloak fell almost to his booted heels; his right hand grasped a tall, hooded spear and a crow perched on his left shoulder. The bird’s head turned, snaring Kalan’s gaze with one bright eye, then it lifted its wings and cawed, the harsh cry echoing through trees and mist. The man looked around and Kalan gasped, for the stranger’s face was concealed beneath a mask of black leather and his left hand had been severed at the wrist.
Kalan forced himself to speak boldly. “Who are you?” he asked. The mask’s blank eyeholes were fixed on him but the man did not speak, just stood there, leaning on the hooded spear. “What is your name?” Kalan said, trying again.
The crow cawed a warning. The masked man’s voice, in the quiet of the wood, was as harsh as the bird’s. “Welcome, Token-bearer,” he said. “It has been a long time since the Huntmaster was summoned to the Hunt.”
~ The Heir Of Night: The Wall of Night Book One; Chapter 19 —The Huntmaster
Twist-y and Turn-y:
Carick was cold, tired, and a long time past fear. He had been running and hiding for over two days now, and knew his pursuers would catch him soon. They had forced him to abandon his mule, and most of his gear, and flee into the wild country that bordered the road through the pass. He had been all too aware that this was their territory and that no stranger, however young and fit, would lose the wolfpack in its own terrain … his pursuers knew it, too, and were already closing in; he could feel their intent, savage presence, ominous as the shadow of a hawk to the rabbit crouching below.
~ from © The Gathering Of The Lost, The Wall of Night Book Two: Chapter 11 — The Wolfpack
About Friendship:
“Hamar! You champion!” Raher ran to meet him as he cantered back, and this time Jarna was at his destrier’s head when he stopped, her face white with fear and excitement as her sure hands checked his horse’s legs for strain or injury.
“Not champion yet,” Kalan said, taking the water bag Ado gave him and squirting water into his mouth.
“Armor’s good here,” Girvase said, as Kalan spat out blood and water before taking another swallow.
Raher nodded agreement from the other side. “And here.”
“He’s clear,” Jarna said, stepping away from his horse. She did not say “take care,” as Malian had that morning, but he could read the words in her expression. He took time over his lance selection, careful over weight and balance, before turning to face Ser Ombrose again.
~ from © The Gathering Of The Lost, The Wall of Night Book Two: Chapter 41 — Passage Of Arms
& also About Love:
Unexpectedly, she smelled jasmine, as dizzyingly sweet as when she first stepped into the temple grounds. The mist thinned and trees appeared, their trunks a smooth dappling of light and shade. Somewhere in the distance, a nightingale was singing its moonlit song.
The nightingale, Malian knew, was one of the enduring motifs of Emerian springtime love. She wanted to smile, but already her bare feet were touching grass and the mist had grown fine as a veil, with only a single drift, like smoke, crossing the crescent of the blue moon overhead. A second moon, three-quarters full and green as winter twilight, shone lower toward the horizon. Twin moons: Malian knew she had heard a tale of that, too, somewhere in her years on the River, although she could not recall what it signified.
~ from © The Gathering Of The Lost, The Wall of Night Book Two: Chapter 44 — The Path of Earth and Moon