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    Derring-Do
    Derring-Do
    Derring-Do
    Ebook92 pages1 hour

    Derring-Do

    By Daniel R. Robichaud

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    Vasily, an honorable warrior in a barbaric world, finds himself lost in mysterious mountains. He seeks vengeance, but these are haunted places where beast gods dwell and ancient magic-science lurks.

    The pyramid came from the outer dark, and it holds the secrets of a thousand wicked pleasures. A pair of thieves spiriting through midnight black streets in search of otherworldly culinary delights find more than they bargain for ...

    An assassin arrives at his target's bedchambers only to find his work finished by another's hand. An amateur's work. The blame however, is his. As the noose tightens around his throat, the assassin must play detective, uncovering the identity of the amateur who burned him.

    When Mosi, a noble captain of the guard, discovers his life has been one long series of lies, he faces the ultimate choice: Will he sacrifice the most cherished treasure in his world or allow hidden evil to continue corrupting all that is good. Honor, murder and madness wait.

    A woman faces a terrible curse in order to save the future generations of the most fertile land in the known world. Will she be able to unlock the riddle and lie with the dead when the dead walk the green?

    Join Rhysling Award nominated writer Daniel R. Robichaud for five tales of adventure and magic in Derring-Do.

    This mini collection contains five stories that previous appeared from Twice Told Tales as "Vasily and the Beast Gods," "Curious Consumption," "A Matter For Amateurs," "Killer's Honor," and "When Voices are Heard on the Green."

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTwice Told Tales II
    Release dateApr 15, 2014
    ISBN9781311146212
    Derring-Do
    Author

    Daniel R. Robichaud

    Daniel R. Robichaud has lived in southeastern Michigan, central Massachusetts and southern Texas. He is a Rhysling Award nominated poet and the author of over one hundred stories, articles and poems, which have appeared in such markets as Shroud Magazine, Rogue Worlds, Goblin Fruit, Rage of the Behemoth, Green Prints, and WritersWeekly. Daniel holds degrees in both Physics and English, and his career path has reflected these passions. In addition to his numerous writing opportunities, he has been an Igor For Hire (aka a freelance research engineer), a substitute teacher, an automation engineer, and a neurophysiology lab manager. Daniel enjoys entertaining people with his words and stories. If you enjoy a good read, why not try one of his works? You might just love them.

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      Book preview

      Derring-Do - Daniel R. Robichaud

      Derring-Do

      Heroic Fantasy Tales

      By: Daniel R. Robichaud

      This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

      Fiction © 2007, 2009, 2013, 2014 by Daniel R. Robichaud

      Cover Design © 2014 by Twice Told Tales, includes cover art by  Dusan Kostic | Dreamstime.com

      This story appeared in slightly different form in Tower of Light Fantasy, Issue 3, 2007.

      Vasily and the Beast Gods first appeared in Rage of the Behemoth (ed. Jason M. Waltz), from Rogue Blades Press, 2009.

      Smashwords Edition

      Published by Twice Told Tales

      All rights reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

      If you have any questions, please contact the publisher at daniel.robichaud@gmail.com.

      Table of Contents

      Vasily and the Beast Gods

      Curious Consumption

      A Matter For Amateurs

      Killer's Honor

      When Voices are Heard on the Green

      Further Reading

      About the Author

      Vasily and the Beast Gods

      A man of sense does not dwell long amongst the shadow-crested peaks of the Uryl range, Voyvodin wisdom said. For when the winds come shrieking down those jagged slopes, they come from the unknowable darkness between the stars and can blow a man to madness.

      These words echoed through Vasily's thoughts while he assessed the strength of his chains and rolling prison, endured the jackal-like laughter of his once-allies-turned-captors, considered the smoldering eyes of the girl-slave who had bewitched him to turn on his qasaq company, or swore dire vengeance against the dark robed figure leading them higher into the mountains. With every moment, he remained alert for any opportunity to secure his freedom.

      Mutt-faced Barot banged his mead cup against the bars of the cage and then stepped aside. The scars across both of his cheeks made a cruel, savage smirk from even placid expressions. His face far from placid, he said, I always knew a woman would be your undoing, Vasily. One step closer, and I’ll be the undoing of your throat.

      Of course, just because he grabbed did not mean he would catch the whip-thin man. Before the betrayal, Vasily had long admired the smaller fellow's speed and skill at both evading and delivering blows. Now, Barot was merely another talented enemy. What is it about this scrawny slag? When shapely wenches await us and the fat purses this trek promises, why throw all away for . . . Barot reproved the girl with a dismissive backhand.

      Vasily remained mute. What could he say that Barot would understand? That this wretch, this girl called Katya, reminded him of the sister he had vowed but failed to protect when he was but twelve autumns old? Barot had sold his own kin for a little road coin.

      Silent with regrets, eh? Barot chuckled. Well, no fear. Your share will not go to the hands of these dogs. I'll entrust its safety. Barot trod ahead, leaving Vasily to brood.

      Vasily’s harsh face, scarred and battered by life's rough road, crinkled in irritation. A man of varied experience, he knew what lay ahead for him now. A man of sense, huh? He snorted and strained his strong body honed by ten autumns spent fighting other men's wars, but the chains were too strong for breaking. Idly he tugged on the bars, on the off chance that Barot's stench might have weakened the iron. No luck.

      No stranger to either the blackest moods or the brightest mirths, always Vasily seemed the bearer of old sorrows. He had wrested crowns from dead men's brows, only to pass them along to the ambitious living; the throne held little allure for him. The road always beckoned.

      The road . . . His first love, his deepest affection. Riding above it, chained in a cage wagon, seemed nothing short of blasphemy.

      Tired with testing , Vasily studied the steel ring binding both his and the woman's chains to the cage ceiling. Only ropes held it in place. Too many and too thick to snap before they would come for me, but a knife would make short work of—

      Of course, he did not have a blade of any sort. Another blasphemy.

      Katya grunted like a hungry bear. She stared at him with a hot outrage, no different than when he had walked on Barot's side of the bars.

      There is no sense in hating me, he said. The both of us are slated for slavery 'til death, now.

      Vasily looked ahead to the robed man, the hairless twig of a sorcerer, shrewd source of coin for the qasaqs and leader of this expedition. The man called himself Gregori, and he was tall, nearly six feet, but emaciated. What few dealings Vasily had with Gregori had revealed the sorcerer to be little more than a bony shell, a husk around some cold, alien flame of power. Without it, Gregori would be a wizened corpse; with it, he was unstoppable.

      Perhaps not. This from Katya.

      Despite Barot's dismissal, there was a fierce beauty to the woman. Hair lustrous as a sable, eyes like emeralds, she carried a kind of strength that many men could only dream of possessing. Hers was the tongue of the Chuckchi mountain folk, neither the fluid Voyvai of Vasily's steppe dwelling forbearers nor the stilted, formal tongue of the Muskovite city dwellers. It startled Vasily, for the woman had never actually spoken to him before, and it took him several heartbeats to realize she did not respond to his thoughts, but to his spoken fatalism.

      He cocked an eyebrow at her, demanding explanation. She offered none, staring instead into the frosty mountains above and around them, as though she might divine the future from their peaks.

      When the wind howled then, the hackles on

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