• Fiona McIntosh: Voyager Author of the Month

    Fiona McIntosh was born and raised in Sussex in the UK, but also spent early childhood years in West Africa. She left a PR career in London to travel and settled in Australia in 1980. She has since roamed the world working for her own travel publishing company, which she runs with her husband. She lives in Adelaide with her husband and twin sons. Her website is at www.fionamcintosh.com.

    Her latest book, The Scrivener's Tale, is a stand-alone and takes us back to the world of Morgravia from her very first series, The Quickening:

    About The Scrivener's Tale:

    In the bookshops and cafes of present-day Paris, ex-psychologist Gabe Figaret is trying to put his shattered life back together. When another doctor, Reynard, asks him to help with a delusional female patient, Gabe is reluctant... until he meets her. At first Gabe thinks the woman, Angelina, is merely terrified of Reynard, but he quickly discovers she is not quite what she seems.

    As his relationship with Angelina deepens, Gabe's life in Paris becomes increasingly unstable. He senses a presence watching and following every move he makes, and yet he finds Angelina increasingly irresistible.

    When Angelina tells Gabe he must kill her and flee to a place she calls Morgravia, he is horrified. But then Angelina shows him that the cathedral he has dreamt about since childhood is real and exists in Morgravia.

    A special 10th Anniversary edition of her first fantasy book, Myrren's Gift, will be released in December!



  • Advertisements

Chapter One of Stormlord Rising

Chapter One of Stormlord Rising, out on 1 March 2010

In a dry land, water is gold ...

In a dry land, water is gold ...

Chapter One
Scarpen Quarter
Breccia City
Breccia Hall, Level 2

The man lying next to Lord Ryka Feldspar was dead.
His eyes stared upwards past her shoulder, sightless, the vividness of their blue already fading. For a while blood had seeped from his wounded chest onto her tunic, but that had slowed, then stopped. She did not know his name, although she had known him by sight. He’d been a guard at Breccia Hall. Younger than she was. Eighteen? Twenty?
Too young to die.
The man on top of her was dead, too. He was a Reduner. His head lay on her chest and the beads threaded onto his red braids pressed uncomfortably into her breast, but she didn’t dare move. Not yet. Around her she heard Reduner voices still; men, heaving bodies onto packpedes, talking among themselves. Making crude jokes about the dead. Coping, perhaps, with the idea it could so easily have been them. Death or survival: even for the victors, the outcome was often as unpredictable as the gusting of a desert wind.
Reduners. Red men from a land of red sand dunes, flesh-devouring zigger beetles and meddles of black pedes. Drovers and nomads and warriors who hankered after a past they thought was noble: a time when rain had been random and they ruled most of the Quartern with their tribal savagery. A people who had recently returned to a time of slave raids, living under laws decided by the strength of a man’s arm and dispensed with a scimitar or a zigtube.
Ryka had been a scholar once, and she spoke their tongue well. She could understand them now as they chatted. ‘Those withering bastard rainlords,’ one was saying, his tone bitter and angry. ‘They took the water from Genillid’s eyes while he was fighting next to me. Left his eyeballs like dried berries in their sockets! Blind as a sandworm.’
‘What did you do?’ another asked, a youngster by the sound of him.
‘For Genillid? Killed him. That was Sandmaster Davim’s orders. Reckon he was right, too. What’s left for a dunesman if he can’t see?’
‘I heard he went around the men afterwards and killed everyone who was like to lose a hand or a leg as well. No place for a cripple on the dunes, he said.’
Ryka felt no pity. They had taken her city. Killed her people. Cloudmaster Granthon Almandine, the Quartern’s ruler, its bringer of water and its only true stormlord, was dead, she knew that. His son, Highlord Nealrith, the city’s ruler, had been taken and tortured. He’d died in a cage swung over one of the city gates. She knew that, too. She’d heard Jasper Bloodstone had killed him to save him the agony of a slow death.

Continue reading