Warriors

From Booklist ( /gp/feature.html/?docId=1000027801 ) ---------------------------------------------------- The title of this massive anthology implies a binding -sf theme, but actually the book is an essay in providing lots of different genres between one set of covers. Happily, it’s entirely successful. There really is something for everybody in it. Joe R. Lansdale has a straight history-cum-mystery about the Buffalo Soldiers, among other things. Naomi Novik eschews dragons in favor of bioengineering on a distant planet—too distant for the characters’ comfort. Steven Saylor goes back before Gordianus the Finder’s era to the fall of Carthage, regarded from the Carthaginian perspective. Lawrence Block forsakes Matthew Scudder to present a very odd young lady of easy virtue. Likewise, Carrie Vaughan’s character herein isn’t really a werewolf but a member of the WWII WASP. Both S. M. Stirling and David Weber hew closer to standard -sf than many others; both are complete masters of it, of course, who have ever so slightly pushed its limits. And both editors contribute, Dozois a classy last-survivor piece, and Martin a sidebar to his Ice and Fire saga. --Roland Green Read more ( javascript:void(0) ) Review ------ “An eclectic mix…. Highly recommended.” ―Library Journal, starred review “Pure entertainment.” ―Publishers Weekly “Entirely successful… There really is something for everybody in it.” ―Booklist Read more ( javascript:void(0) ) About the Author ---------------- George R.R. Martin is the author of the accled, internationally bestselling fantasy series A Song of Ice and Fire, adapted into the hit HBO series Game of Thrones. He is also the editor and contributor to the Wild Cards series, including the novels Suicide Kings and Fort Freak, among other bestsellers. He has won multiple science fiction and fantasy awards, including four Hugos, two Nebulas, six Locus Awards, the Bram Stoker, the World Fantasy Award, the Daedelus, the Balrog, and the Daikon (the Japanese Hugo). Martin has been writing ever since he was a child, when he sold monster stories to neighborhood children for pennies, and then in high school he wrote fiction for comic fanzines. His first professional sale was to Galaxy magazine, when he was 21. He has been a full-time writer since 1979. Martin has bachelor's and master's degrees in journalism from Northwestern University. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico. Gardner Dozois (1947-2018), one of the most accled editors in science-fiction, has won the Hugo Award for Best Editor 15 times. He was the editor of Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine for 20 years. He is the editor of The Year’s Best Science Fiction anthologies and co-editor of the Warrior anthologies, Songs of the Dying Earth, and many others. As a writer, Dozois twice won the Nebula Award for best short story. He was inducted into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame in 2011 and has received the Skylark Award for Lifetime Achievement. He lived in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Read more ( javascript:void(0) ) Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. -------------------------------------------------------- The King of Norway I Conn Corbansson had fought for Sweyn Tju when Sweyn was just an outlaw rebelling against his her, King Harald Bluetooth, and the prince had promised him a war with En gland when he became King of Denmark. Now that Sweyn actually wore the crown, he had let the En glish king buy his peace with a ship full of silver. Conn took this very ill. “England is the greatest prize. You swore this to me.” Sweyn pulled furiously at his long forked mustaches. His eyes glittered. “I have not forgotten. And the time will come. Meanwhile, there is Hakon the Jarl, up in Norway. I cannot turn my back on him.” “So you called in the Jomsvikings instead of .ghting him yourself,” Conn said. “I see being King has made you womanish as well as pursefond.” He turned on his heel before Sweyn could speak, and walked off down the boardwalk toward the King’s great hall. His cousin Raef, who went everywhere with him, followed at his side. Sweyn bellowed after them, but neither of them paid heed. Conn said, “How can I believe anything he says ever again?” Raef said, “Who would you rather .ght for?” “I don’t know,” Conn said. “But I will .nd out.” That night in his great hall at Helsingor, Sweyn had a feasting, and there came many of his own hirdmen, including Conn and Raef, but also the chiefs of the Jomsvikings, Sigvaldi Haraldsson and Bui the Stout. Raef sat down at the low table, since with Conn he was now on the King’s sour side. Conn sat beside him, his black curly hair and beard a wild mane around his head. His gaze went continually to the Jomsvikings at the table across the way. Raef knew his curiosity; they had heard much of the great company of the Jomsvikings, of their fortress in the east, and their skill at war, which they gave to whoever would pay them enough. They weren’t actually supposed to have chiefs, but to hold all in common as free men, and Raef wondered if Sigvaldi here and the barrel- shaped Bui were messengers more than chiefs. They wore no fancy clothes, such as Sweyn’s red coats of silk and fur, and their beards and hair hung shaggy and long. Sigvaldi was a big man, square shouldered, with curling yellow hair that .owed into his beard. Beside him, Conn said, “I like their looks. They are hard men, and proud.” Raef said nothing, being slower to judgment. Across the way, Sigvaldi had seen Conn watching, indeed, and lifted a cup to him, and Conn drank with him. It was the strong , thick as bear piss, and the slaves were carrying around ewers of it to re.ll any cup that went even half- empty. Raef reached out and turned his empty cup upside down. When they were .nished with the meat and settling in to drink, Sweyn stood up and lifted his cup, and called on Thor and Odin and gave honor to them. The men all shouted and drank, but Sweyn was not .nished. “In their honor also, it’s our Danish custom to offer vows, which are most sacred now—” He held out his cup to be .lled again. “And here in the names of those most high, I swear one day to make myself King of En gland!” The men all through the hall gave up a roar of excitement; across the .eld of waving arms and cheering faces, Raef saw Sweyn turn and glare at Conn. “Who else offers such a vow as this?” The uproar faded a moment, and Sigvaldi lurched to his feet. “When the war for En gland comes, let it be, but we are here for the sake of Hakon the Jarl, in Norway, who is an oathbreaker and a turncoat.” Voices rose, calling Hakon the Jarl every sort of evil thing, traitor and thief and liar. And the slaves went around and .lled the cups. Steeped in drink, red- faced Sigvaldi held his cup high so that all would look. When the hall was hushed, he shouted, “Therefore I vow here before the high gods to lead the Jomsvikings against Hakon, wherever he hides! And I will not give up until he is beaten.” There was a great yell from all there, and they drank. The hall was crowded with men now, those sitting at the tables, many of them Jomsvikings, and many others standing behind them who were Sweyn’s house carls and crews. “A mighty vow,” Sweyn called. “An honor to the gods Hakon has betrayed. The rest of you—will you follow your chief in this?” His eyes an oblique glance at Conn, down at the lower table. “Which of you will join the Jomsvikings?” At this, Dane and Jomsviking alike began shouting out oaths and vows against Hakon, while the slaves with the jugs plied their work. Then Conn rose. Raef held his breath, alarmed at this, and around the hall, the other men hushed. Conn held out his cup. “I swear I will sail with you, Sigvaldi, and call out Hakon face- to- face, and not come back until I am the King of Norway.” He raised his cup toward Sweyn and tilted it to his mouth. There was a brief hush at this, as everybody saw it was an insult, or a challenge, but then they erupted again in another great roaring and stamping all through the hall, and more outpourings of vows. Raef, who had touched nothing since the .rst cup, marked that up there at the high seat, Sweyn’s glinting eyes were .xed on Conn and his mouth wound tight with rage. Raef thought they had all probably gotten more than they wished for in this oath- taking at Helsingor. The next morning Conn woke, sprawled on his bench in the hall, and went out into the yard to piss. His head pounded and his mouth tasted evil. He could not remember much of the night before. When he turned away from the fence, Sigvaldi the Jomsviking chief was walking up to him, beaming all across his face. “Well,” he boomed out, “maybe we promised some mighty doings, last night, with those vows, hah? But I’m glad you’re with us, boy. We’ll see if you’ll make a Jomsviking.” He put out his hand to Conn, who shook it, having nothing else to do. Sigvaldi went on, “Meet at the Limsfjord at the full moon, and we’ll go raiding in Norway, and draw Hakon to us. Then we’ll .nd out how well you .ght.” He tramped away across the yard, where more of the Jomsvikings were coming out into the sun. Raef stood by the door into the hall. Conn went over by him. “What did I swear to?” His cousin’s long homely face was expressionless. “You said you would sail with them and challenge Hakon the Jarl face- to- face, and not return to Denmark until you were King of Norway.” Conn gave a yelp, amazed, and said, “What a fool I am in ! That’s something great to do, though, isn’t it.” Raef said, “I’d say that.” “Well, then,” Conn said, “let’s get started.” II So they sailed north to raid in Norway, around the Vik, where the riches were. Sometimes the whole .eet raided a village together, and sometimes they went out in parties and attacked farmsteads along the fjord, driving the people out and then ransacking their holdings. What ever anybody found of gold went into a great chest, which Bui the Stout guarded like a dragon. All else they ate or drank, or packed off to the Jomsberg. Several ships went heavy- laden to the Jomsberg, but there was no sign of Hakon the Jarl. They turned north, following the passageways between the islands and the coast, raiding as they went. Every day the sun stayed longer in the sky, and the nights barely darkened enough to let a man an hour. Around them, above thin green seaside meadows, the land rose in curtains of rock, snow- cloaked. They stood far out to sea to weather the cloud- shrouded wind- blasted cape at Stad, and then rowed on, still north but now easterly, attacking what ever they found in the fjords. They were within a few good days’ rowing now of the long waterway that led to the Trondelag, and still Hakon offered them no sition. III Conn’s muscles hurt; all day he had been rowing against the .erce north wind, and he stood on the beach and stretched the ache out of his arms. The sun was a great orange blob .oating just above the western horizon. The sky burned with its .ery glow, the few low streaks of cloud gilt- edged. The dark sea rolled up against the pebble shore, broke, and withdrew in a long seething growl. Out past the ships, sixty of them, drawn up onto the beach like resting monsters, he caught a glimpse of a shark. The coppery light of the long sundown made the camp.res that covered the beach almost invisible. Over every pit a haunch turned, strips of meat and .sh hung dripping on tripods and spits, their s exploding in the coals below, and a man stood by in the hot glow with a cup, putting out burns with a douse of . Conn saw Sigvaldi Haraldsson up on the beach and went to him. The chief of the Jomsvikings sat on a big log, his feet out in front of him, watching some lesser men turn his spit. Bui the Stout sat next to him, the Jomsvikings’ trea sure chest at his feet. As Conn came up, they raised their faces toward him. They were passing a cup between them, and Sigvaldi with a bellowed greeting held it out to him. Conn drank. The tasted muddy. “Hakon has to come after us soon.” Sigvaldi gave a harsh crackle of a laugh, clapping his hands on his knees. “I told you, lad, he won’t willingly .ght us. We will have to go all the way up to the Trondelag to drag him out of his hole.” Bui laughed. “By then we will have beggared him anyway.” He kicked the chest at his feet. “Yes,” Sigvaldi said, and reached out and slapped Conn’s arm companionably. “We’ve taken great boot, and we’ll feast again to night as we do every night. This is the life of a Jomsviking, boy.” Conn blu... Read more ( javascript:void(0) )

undefined