Andrew Ashling's Blog

My editor and I are revising the final draft of the second Rahendo & Ryhunzo Mystery, Last of the Line.
The release is set for either late September or October of this year.
 
Tomar, the steward of the prince-warlord, has commissioned Rahendo and Ryhunzo to investigate the murder of a young nobleman.
Their first port of call is The Cranky Goat. The infamous tavern is the meeting place of a group of orphans living on the fringes of society.
The Stray Boys, as they call themselves, helped our sleuths solve a previous case, related in Dagger of Deception.
 

The two leaders of the Stray Boys remained silent when the pages had finished their account.

“Quite a mess,” Olno said after a while. “What do you want us to do?”

“It would be helpful if any of you had noticed something out of the ordinary today.”

Agneth looked at the other table where more Stray Boys had arrived.

“Let’s just ask,” he said, rising. He walked over to the group of orphans who had just finished cleaning the two platters of chicken wings.

From their vantage point, the pages saw a lot of gesticulating, nodding, and shaking of heads, and they heard a lot of protestations without being able to make out the exact words.

Finally, Agneth returned with a diminutive boy in tow.

“This is Demery,” Agneth introduced the boy. “Say hi to Ry and his friend, Demery.”

“Hi Ry,” Demery stammered, his face becoming beet red. “And friend of Ry,” he added even more subdued.

“By all the Gods and Goddesses,” Rahendo said, exasperated. “Another one.”

Demery blinked. He was wearing a baggy overcoat with large pockets and a leather cap with flaps that covered his ears, but that didn’t hide some strands of greasy black hair, under which shone his equally black eyes.

“Don’t just stand there, Demery,” Agneth prodded the boy. “Tell them and Olno what you saw.”

Demery’s eyes darted nervously around as if he was looking for a way to escape.

“Take a chicken wing, Demery,” Ryhunzo said, smiling encouragingly at the boy. “To calm your nerves.”

“Don’t mind if I do, m’lordship, by your leave,” the orphan replied, putting a chicken wing in his mouth. While he tried to suck off the meat, he took another one and carefully put it in his right pocket. Then a second one, which went the same way.

“I gets hungry, m’lordships,” he explained, putting the clean bones of the wing he had been sucking on delicately on the table and wiping his hands on his coat. “That’s why I keeps me meats in my, uh…”

“Right pocket?” Ryhunzo helped.

“Why yes, m’lordship. I keeps me breads in… in the right pocket on the other side. Don’t care too much for veggies.”

“Tell them already,” Agneth said.

“Ah, yes… I had just eaten a few light nibbles, and I wanted to take a nap. I swear, just a nap. Not as if I was there for any other reason. No other reason at all. You know how good grub makes you want to nap, don’t you? The trees and the bushes next to the training grounds are some of the nicest spots around for a quick shut-eye.”

“I hear it’s a very popular place,” Ryhunzo said, smiling radiantly at the boy.

“Tell them, tell them,” Lanio said, his mouth full of chicken meat. “They don’t bite.”

“Eh… Well, two guys coming into the bushes woke me, didn’t they? I was careful to lie low and not make any noise. There’s some mighty weird people in the world, you know. They didn’t notice me and they started to undress. At first, I thought… never mind what I thought. I don’t want to put your lordships off their foods, I don’t. But they only exchanged clothes and then one of them took the road to Lorseth. The other one tied their horses to a tree and sat down against another one next to the road. I was just saying to myself, ‘Demery,’ I said to mine own self, ‘you’d better find a way to leave without the one who has stayed behind noticing you,’ when three mens came riding down the road. Right ugly buggers they were too. And dangerous looking. I know dangerous, I does. They stopped right next to where I was hiding and started looking around. I nearly shat my pants, I did, beg your pardon, m’lordships, by your leave, but I really almost did, and I started praying to Murandana, Goddess of Hopeless Cases and Lost Causes. If ever there was a hopeless case, it is me. I will admit as much, for sure, and my cause seemed as lost as any cause can be. But as luck would have it, they didn’t see me, because, with the Goddess’s help, I can be so secretive as to become one with the dirt on the ground, like you wouldn’t believe.”

Oh, I do believe you, Rahendo thought. You would be invisible, lying down in the dirt.

Demery had paused to try to grab another chicken wing, but Lanio pulled the platter out of his reach.

“Finish your story,” Olno’s little brother said.

“Turned out they were looking for the guy with the horses, weren’t they? Unlike me myself, he had taken no precautions to hide himself, more the pitiful fool him. One of them recognized him and yelled to the other two, ‘There he is, get him,’ or something like that. They got off their horses and dragged the guy from the bushes. It had gone all so rapidly that he had barely had the chance to draw his sword. Pfft. It didn’t help, did it? They just knocked the thing out of his hand. It was over quickly. While one held him fast, the other two pulled his tunic over his head. A beautiful piece with bright colors. Then, before my very own innocent eyes, they cut him down, most cruelly. Most cruelly.”

Demery frowned.

“Strange thing is, they then proceeded to rob him of everything, though his shirt or boots weren’t worth shit. They took everything. Even his breeches and socks with holes in them. They rode off as if Shardoch himself was hunting them, and for all I knows he was. They left the poor guy in the middle of the road. Naked as the day he was born, but deader.”

“Did you check from nearby?” Rahendo asked.

“The Gods and Goddesses forbid, no,” Demery exclaimed, and he spat upon the floor. “Excuse me, m’lordship, but it’s very unwise to go too near the recently dead. And dead he was, for sure. That much I knows. There was nobody around, so I hauled off as fast as I could. Poor innocent Demery near a dead body would make people come to the wrong conclusions, wouldn’t it? Couldn’t risk it, now could I?”

“Do you remember the arms on the tunic?” Rahendo asked.

Demery blinked.

“Was there a picture on his tunic?” Ryhunzo clarified.

“Yes, there was, and a nice picture it was, too. It really was. Like a red peak or mountain and the upper part was green. Jolly bright colors too they was.”

“Parted per chevron, vert and gules,” Rahendo mused. “Yes, that’s the shield of the House of Durnsley, all right.”

“And the men?” Agneth asked. “Did you recognize them, or can you tell us what they looked like?”

“Never saw them ever before. I swear, I didn’t. I was too scared and busy hiding me poor little self to notice anything…” Demery frowned. “Wait… now I remember. One of them was smaller than the others, though he shouted the loudest.”

“He was giving the orders, you mean?”

“Yeah, Agneth, that’s exactly it. The little guy was giving the orders. He had a hump that made one of his shoulders higher than the other.”

“The right one or the other right one?” Rahendo inquired.

“Pardon me, m’lordship?”

“Never mind,” Rahendo said, feeling mean. “He was a hunchback, wasn’t he?”

“A hunchback he was, m’lordship.”

“Thank you, Demery,” Ryhunzo said, and he smiled generously. “That was excellent. You’ve helped us a lot.”

“Pleased to be of service, m’lordship, I’m sure I is.”

“Go sit back with the others, Demery,” Agneth said. “You’ve done well. We’re proud of you.”

Even under all the grime, it was clear Demery flushed.

“Aw, Agneth…” he mumbled, and suddenly leaned over the table. This time Lanio was too slow to prevent Demery from snatching another chicken wing.

Demery returned to his table, his bounty in his hand, and the sweet smile of triumph on his greasy lips.

Follow me on Bluesky

 

The post Excerpt from Last of the Line appeared first on Ximerion.

Cover of The Conqueror

In the World of Anaxantis…

At the time of writing, July 3th, 2025, my newest book, The Conqueror, a novella, is live on Amazon, Kobo, B&N, Apple Books, Smashwords, and being published to several other vendors. You can find all download links on this page on my website.

So, what’s it about?

 

Flotsam

The Conqueror takes place in the World of Anaxantis.

It is part of what could become a series of stories about minor characters who wandered off the main stage. I tentatively call it Flotsam of History.

Sometimes those second or third plan characters disappear from the stage, but that doesn’t mean their story ends. It means the rest of what happened to them has no bearing upon the main plot, the main narrative, and all its side roads.

What happened to them after they leave the front stage can be interesting in its own right. Sometimes it is worth telling, if only to indulge my, and hopefully your, curiosity.

 

Old Acquaintance

This one is about a prince-regent driven from power, betrayed by his friends, abandoned alone in the wilderness, and fleeing from his enemies. A chance encounter will change his life. Those of you who read the complete Dark Tales series may already have guessed whom I’m referring to.

I think this story was worth telling. Obviously, or I wouldn’t have written it. Is it worth reading? That depends. It zooms in on a very particular corner of the extended mosaic that is the World of Anaxantis. I know there are some who read the original series who would want to know.

 

Stand-Alone

And for the reader who stumbles by accident upon this story without having read the other books? The Conqueror is a stand-alone story. You won’t miss anything essential if you haven’t read the Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse series. Though, if you have, I hope it will add a little more depth, color, nuance and texture to the whole epos.

Ultimately this story is about redemption, about remaking your life after a major downfall, about letting go. It’s about finding, if not happiness, at least contentment.

A final caveat. Most of my stories feature gay characters. This one doesn’t.

 

Limited Offer

I hope you will check it out. For a limited time, until July 15th, 2025, this book will be sold at $0.99. After that the normal price will be $1.99.

This link will bring you to a page on my website with all available buy options.

 

More Old Acquaintances

The second volume of the Rahendo & Ryhunzo Mysteries, Last of the Line is in the final stages of editing. I’ll soon publish excerpts on this site.

 

And Finally… A Request

I’m leaving what used to be Twitter and I am migrating to Bluesky. That means I have to rebuild from scratch. I would be very grateful if you would follow me on Bluesky. You can do so by using this link to my profile.

 

 

The post New Release: The Conqueror appeared first on Ximerion.

Photo by Alex Knight on Unsplash

What is ChatGPT?

 

ChatGPT is an artificial intelligence chatbot developed by OpenAI and launched in November 2022.

 

Unless you’ve lived under a rock, or if you’re completely not interested in developments in the computer world, you must at least have heard something about the artificial but intelligent chatbot that everybody can engage with. You can ask it general questions, but you can also ask it to write an essay on a random subject. It will do so in seconds, and several non-artificial intelligent people have stated that it would be difficult to distinguish its answers from that of regular people.

 

Of course I was intrigued.

 

Good bot

 

I started with asking some questions about parts of history I’m well acquainted with. E.g. I asked if it would be fair to describe Napoleon Bonaparte’s regime as a thinly disguised military dictatorship. It not only agreed with me, it gave several reasons which I myself would give to support the thesis. Good bot. Am I biased? Am I susceptible to flattery? Yes, on both counts. I admit it freely.

 

Do you have a good literary taste, bot?

 

I played around somewhat more with the program, and inevitably the moment came when the narcissism that every author is subject to got the upper hand.

 

I asked ChatGPT:

 

What is the main theme of the books in the Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse series?

 

That was all I gave it to go on. I was fully prepared for ChatGPT to answer something like, “Never heard of the thing.”

 

To my surprise the answer came within seconds:

 

The Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse is a series of books written by Andrew Ashling. The main theme of the series is a complex and intricate web of political intrigue, power struggles, and social commentary set in a fantasy world.

 

Well, eh… that was not just surprising, but actually flattering, and what’s more, the answer is, broadly speaking, correct.

 

You’re a liar, bot

 

I knew that if ChatGPT doesn’t know the answer to a question it will make something up. The next paragraph of its answer was a summary of the series… and completely made up out of whole cloth.

 

The story revolves around the titular character, Randamor, a recluse who is forced to navigate the intricate and often dangerous politics of the kingdoms of Danyubai and Lorstria. As the story progresses, Randamor finds himself embroiled in a web of conspiracies and plots, as various factions seek to gain power and influence.

 

OK, bot, you’re a liar and a cheater. You apparently haven’t read the books you’re reviewing. Not that you’re the first.

 

Lie to me some more, bot, why don’t you?

 

The series also explores themes of sexuality, gender identity, and societal norms. Randamor’s relationships with various characters in the series are often portrayed in a nuanced and complex way, challenging traditional notions of love and sexuality.

 

ChatGPT keeps insisting that Randamor is the Main Character instead of the Narrator, but otherwise it isn’t far off the mark. Nuanced and complex relationships? Check. Relationships that challenge traditional notions of love and sexuality? Check.

 

If I read this in a real review, minus the Randamor mistake, I wouldn’t be disappointed.

 

The bot concludes…

 

Overall, the Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse is a rich and engrossing series that blends political intrigue, social commentary, and fantasy elements to create a captivating and thought-provoking read.

 

And, again, from a real reader who actually read the series, this would have been high praise. The highest, in fact. It’s one of those appraisals that makes a writer’s heart sing and brightens their day. I certainly will use it in what little promotion I do.

 

 

If you came here because you fell into a rabbit hole researching ChatGPT, this page will provide you with all the links of the vendors where the first book in the Dark Tales series can be downloaded for free. You know, just in case you wanted to see whether you agree with ChatGPT. Which I hope you do.

 

 

If you’ve read the series, I would be delighted to read what you thought of ChatGPT’s review.

 

 

If you want to try out ChatGPT yourself, you can do so here.

 

The post ChatGPT likes the Dark Tales — sort of… appeared first on Ximerion.

Cover of Dagger of Deception

In the World of Anaxantis…

When I first started writing The Invisible Chains, I had a fairly linear story in mind. I didn’t foresee how it would swell up and bulge out left and right, up and down, until it contained more than a dozen storylines and literally hundreds of characters.

 

The Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse, of which the Chains-trilogy is the first part, is foremost the personal story of a young prince, Anaxantis, who is thrown from a safe, protected nest into the turbulent world of an outer province on the brink of being invaded by wild barbarians. In a broader sense it is also a history—or pseudo-history, if you will—of the world Anaxantis lives in.

 

The first three books, The Invisible Chains, relate how Anaxantis, though short of money and soldiers, handles a dangerous invasion by vicious barbarians.

 

This story takes place parallel to the beginning of Gambit, the first book of the sequel quadrilogy, The Invisible Hands, and the fourth book in the series. Some spoilers, if you haven’t read the first three books, are inevitable, but I hope I kept them to a minimum.

 

 

Rahendo & Ryhunzo, Amateur Sleuths, to the Rescue

After the victorious Battle of the Zinchara (see The Invisible Chains — Part 3: Bonds of Blood) and daily life in Lorseth Castle has returned to normal.

 

The prince’s pages have taken up their usual routine of exercise, study, service, raiding Lorseth’s taverns, and bickering among themselves. Everything seems peaceful enough until a village girl accuses one of the pages—and a master of pages, no less—of having raped her, leaving her with child. A charge which Eynurm of Tarnwood vigorously denies.

 

Since there is no proof and Eynurm has a solid reputation, everyone concerned thinks that this straw fire will be easily stomped out. That is, until the maiden in question is found dead with a dagger in her belly. A dagger that bears the crest of Eynurm’s House.

 

Luckily for Eynurm, he has two good friends, Rahendo and Ryhunzo, who believe he has been set up and who swear they won’t rest until they have discovered the real murderer…

 

I know. It’s probably not what you wanted. It’s not that I have given up on the main storyline. It’s just that I was in the mood to write something far lighter but still in the World of Anaxantis. If you have read the first three books you will notice several references. If you haven’t you won’t notice them.

 

I hope you will like this story nevertheless.

 

 

Buying Options

Buy from Amazon

 

Buy from Kobo

 

Buy from Barnes & Noble

 

Buy from Apple

 

Buy from Thalia

 

Buy from Weltbild

 

Buy from Scribd

 

The post New Release: Dagger of Deception appeared first on Ximerion.

The Man by the Lake

I never entirely stopped writing, although my production was low. Moreover, I never published anything I’d written. I’m going to repair that and start with a short story, a thriller. Baby steps.

As per usual I’m doing it all wrong. Common writer wisdom has it that you should write in the genre that readers expect from you. “They” seem to think that readers are simpletons who can’t (under)stand a change in pace or a new perspective. I explicitly disagree. Readers are smart people, and all smart people are readers. But, anyway, according to traditional writing wisdom I’m doing it wrong. Again.

Allow me to elaborate.

The Man by the Lake is set in the world of Just Don’t Mess with Us: Family Matters, a series of interconnected stories. I had just finished A Dish Served Cold, and I urgently needed some levity and fun after the grim dystopian world I had written about.

The stories of Just Don’t Mess with Us: Family Matters were never meant to be taken seriously. They are satire, light fare, to be forgotten as soon as read. I had great fun writing them, and, a very select public of readers had fun reading them.

The five stories relate the adventures of four guys living together in a polyamorous relationship. They try to keep their true relationship out of the spotlight by posing as brothers. The Spencer boys are very protective of their little family. It is vaguely hinted that this is because all of them, except the oldest, Matt, have a troubled past.

After Just Don’t Mess with Us: Family Matters I started writing Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse>. Although these books were on an epic scale, with a cast numbering in the hundreds and an intricate plot and convoluted sub-plots, I never entirely forgot about the Spencer boys.

Especially their possible backstory intrigued me. This story, The Man by the Lake, reveals one of these painful and distressing pasts.

And here is why I’m doing it wrong.

Just Don’t Mess with Us: Family Matters was over the top, verging on the absurd, frivolous and nonsensical amusement. By all rights you are entitled to expect more of the same. Well, you’re not getting it. This story is nothing like that. You will recognize some tropes and characteristics, but that’s about it. This story is much darker and hardly humorous. It asks some tough questions and leaves it to the reader to answer them. Also, while gay relationships are implied, there is no on-screen sex.

See? Completely wrong.

Ah well, I nevertheless hope you’ll enjoy it.

All buying options

Cover of The Man by the Lake

Hi there,
 
It’s been a while…
 
I hope you’re all healthy and safe.
 
I never entirely stopped writing, although my production was low. Moreover, I never published anything I’d written. I’m going to repair that and start with a short story, a thriller. Baby steps.
 
As per usual I’m doing it all wrong. Common writer wisdom has it that you should write in the genre that readers expect from you. “They” seem to think that readers are simpletons who can’t (under)stand a change in pace or a new perspective. I explicitly disagree. Readers are smart people, and all smart people are readers. But, anyway, according to traditional writing wisdom I’m doing it wrong. Again.
 
Allow me to elaborate.
 

The Spencer Boys

The Man by the Lake is set in the world of Just Don’t Mess with Us: Family Matters, a series of interconnected stories. I had just finished A Dish Served Cold, and I urgently needed some levity and fun after the grim dystopian world I had written about.
 
The stories of Just Don’t Mess with Us: Family Matters were never meant to be taken seriously. They are satire, light fare, to be forgotten as soon as read. I had great fun writing them, and, a very select public of readers had fun reading them.
 
The five stories relate the adventures of four guys living together in a polyamorous relationship. They try to keep their true relationship out of the spotlight by posing as brothers. The Spencer boys are very protective of their little family. It is vaguely hinted that this is because all of them, except the oldest, Matt, have a troubled past.
 
After Just Don’t Mess with Us: Family Matters I started writing Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse. Although these books were on an epic scale, with a cast numbering in the hundreds and an intricate plot and convoluted sub-plots, I never entirely forgot about the Spencer boys.
 
Especially their possible backstory intrigued me. This story, The Man by the Lake, reveals one of these painful and distressing pasts.
 
And here is why I’m doing it wrong.
 

Wrong again

Just Don’t Mess with Us: Family Matters was over the top, verging on the absurd, frivolous and nonsensical amusement. By all rights you are entitled to expect more of the same. Well, you’re not getting it. This story is nothing like that. You will recognize some tropes and characteristics, but that’s about it. This story is much darker and hardly humorous. It asks some tough questions and leaves it to the reader to answer them. Also, while gay relationships are implied, there is no on-screen sex.
 
See? Completely wrong.
 
Ah well, I nevertheless hope you’ll enjoy it.
 

 

Buying Options

Buy from Amazon
 
Buy from Kobo
 
Buy from Barnes & Noble
 
Buy from Apple iBooks
 
Buy from Thalia
 
Buy from Vivlio
 
Buy from Scribd

 

The post Short Thriller: The Man by the Lake appeared first on Ximerion.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

I promised you an excerpt from my Cozy Mystery novella Murder in Lorseth (working title) and here it is.
 
If you haven’t read the first trilogy of the Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse, there may be a few mild spoilers.
 
The text is unedited and may still contain typos and other mistakes.
 
 
 

Obyann of Ramaldah let out a deep sigh. He straightened his tunic and raked his fingers through his slightly greasy hair. Scraping his throat, he gathered all his resolve and knocked on the door.

He strained his ears but no sound came from the closed room.

“The little perverts must still be asleep,” he muttered to himself. Or — worse — they are otherwise engaged, he thought, shivering.

Even so, he had to draw their attention somehow. Prince Anaxantis had asked for them.

“Rahendo, Ryhunzo,” he called out. “Are you awake? Are you decent? Open the door. If you’re decent. Only if you’re decent.”

Since there came no immediate reaction he was about to try the doorknob, but before he could do so someone opened the door from the inside.

“Ah, it’s you, Obe, my man,” a cheerful curly-haired young man said. Cheerful, curly-haired, and stark naked.

“I asked, Ryhunzo. I did ask if you were decent,” Obyann complained.

Ryhunzo scratched his bush, which made his dick go up and down in a nodding gesture. Obyann cringed. Ryhunzo yawned.

“I’ll have you know my Golden Dawn After a Long Dreary Night and I consider ourselves to be some of the most decent people you will find in a radius of thirty miles around Lorseth, Obe. Frankly, methinks I ought to be insulted.” He smiled radiantly. “But since it’s you, I’m not.”

“Who is there, Pookie?” a voice called from inside.

Rahendo emerged from behind the drapery that separated the sleeping quarters from the rest of the room. He too was as naked as the day he was born.

“Oh, Obie, it’s you,” he crowed. “Come in, come in.”

Obyann sighed again.

“One day you’ll really have to explain to me what horrible crimes clothes have committed that you hate wearing them,” he muttered.

“We like clothes perfectly fine.” Ryhunzo beamed.

“Especially our elegant maroon mantles,” Rahendo added.

“I don’t know about elegant. What I do know is that they were damn expensive,” Obyann grumbled. And of course, it made the other head pages, Echron and Robrant, jealous. So we had to buy them maroon cloaks as well.

“It’s just that clothes get in the way, you know, when my Pookie and I want to prove our undying love—”

“I don’t want to hear it and I certainly don’t want those images haunting me for the rest of the day. Dress yourselves. Anaxantis wants you. Both of you. Yes, I know, I thought he had lost his mind, but then he explained. It’s weird but it makes sense when he explains it.”

Two naked boys looked expectantly at Obyann.

“Well, Obe, my man, care to tell us?” A mountain of curls moved excitedly on Ryhunzo’s head. He blew at a strand of hair that had fallen over his left eye.

“Put some clothes on, you little deviants, and I’ll explain while you’re dressing.”

“It’s not as if it impairs our hearing when we’re not wearing anything,” Ryhunzo said in his usual cheerful tone. “Come, Blinding Light in the Dark Grotto of My Life, we mustn’t badger Obe too much. He’s rather fragile. He might break.”

The two pages withdrew behind the drapery. Judging by the rustling and occasional giggling that went on, they were not just dressing themselves. Obyann repressed some of the more vivid — and disturbing — images that came to mind.

“Well?” a voice insisted from behind the heavy curtains.

“Eynurm is in trouble,” Obyann said in a loud voice.

“What?” Ryhunzo shouted, emerging from behind the curtains with only one leg in his pants.

“Nurmie?” Rahendo cried out. “Why? What’s the matter? How much trouble? Does he need money?” He too came from behind the curtains, keeping his pants up with both hands. “Pookie, could you latch my belt for me? I seem unable to find the right notch.”

Ryhunzo, still with one leg uncovered, shuffled behind Rahendo, reaching around his friend’s slim figure to fasten the belt. Then he put his second leg in his pants, balancing himself on his friend’s shoulder.

“You recall how Eynurm dated this girl from Lorseth Market for a while?” Obyann began.

“Yes. Wasn’t she the daughter of a well-to-do saddler?” Ryhunzo asked.

“Oh yes, I remember,” Rahendo said, fidgeting with the laces of his shirt. “Poor Nurmie. She dumped him, didn’t she, when he told her his father had disinherited him for behavior unworthy of a noble?”

“Said behavior being dating her, a commoner lass,” Ryhunzo added, nodding. “The girl had caused our poor friend to lose his inheritance, albeit unwittingly, and in the end he lost her too. Love can be cruel like that.”

Obyann looked confused and it took him some moments to take up the thread again.

“Anyway, that was months ago…” He took a deep breath. “But now the young woman — by name of Iselda — finds herself pregnant and she claims Eynurm is the father.”

“So what?” Rahendo asked. “There are a lot of noble bastards running around in the Highlands. All over Ximerion, in fact. Nothing out of the ordinary, I would think.”

“Yes so you would, wouldn’t you?” Obyann said. “You’re probably thinking of myself as a case in point.”

“Oh no, Obie, that was not what I meant. Your father loves you, and that is all that matters, isn’t it?” Rahendo shrugged. “Then again, you know what they say about Anaxantis. That the queen had an affair and that he isn’t the son of the king. Doesn’t stop him from being a prince and lord-governor, though.”

“In this case there’s a snag or two,” Obyann replied, somewhat mollified. “The most important of the two being that mistress Iselda claims that Eynurm forced himself upon her against her loudly and repeatedly uttered protests. She also wants Eynurm to marry her and support both her and the child.”

Rahendo bit his lower lip in thought.

“It’s all nonsense,” he said after a while. “First of all, Nurmie would never force himself upon anyone. He’s one of the kindest guys I know. Next to Nulfie. And you, of course, Pookie. Oh, and you too, Obie. It follows that if she consented to this, eh, union the kid is her responsibility. That’s always been the case for bastards of a noble father.”

“It’s good manners, though, to support the wench in some way or other,” Ryhunzo added. “And help the boy later on, or arrange for a suitable match if it’s a girl. Provided the child shows promise.”

“All true,” Obyann agreed, “under normal circumstances. I know of several bastards in Lorseth and wide environs, as far as Crockton village, all fathered by pages of Anaxantis or by squires of his brother. Usually Anaxantis makes them, or their fathers to be precise — well, the fathers of the fathers — pay a nice sum for the upkeep of the child and that’s that. The lasses are usually more than happy with a generous lump sum or a stipend that keeps them out of poverty and from having to work. Moreover, having a nice little nest egg makes them sought after brides, believe it or not. Never mind they come with a noble bastard.”

“So, it’s money after all,” Rahendo said. “That’s easy then. Eynurm needs most of his pay as master of pages to support himself, now that his father has seen fit to stop his monthly allowance, but I’m sure he can pay a modest sum — if need be in installments. And we can help, can’t we, Pookie?”

Ryhunzo nodded enthusiastically.

“I’m sure Nulfie will contribute as well and—”

“And nothing,” Obyann interrupted Rahendo. “Haven’t you been listening? She claims Eynurm forced himself upon her.”

“But he denies it, I’m sure.” Rahendo looked more hopeful than certain. “Doesn’t he?”

“He not only denies forcing himself upon her, he claims the child can’t be his because it’s too long ago when they last, eh…”

“Made hot, hot, wild, steamy, shameless love, their naked, sweaty bodies intertwined so as to be indistinguishable from one another?“ Ryhunzo proffered.

Obyann’s face turned red.

“That’s… Well… Yes. But Iselda maintains she is pregnant and that the child most certainly is Eynurm’s. She wants him to marry her.”

“Him being disinherited and all?” Ryhunzo asked.

“Maybe she heard Eynurm has been promoted to master of pages, Pookie,” Rahendo said.

“So?”

“First of all, master of pages is a paid office. And one thing could lead to another. The prince likes Nurmie, and Anaxantis can be very generous, for all that he can be very mean too. He has ennobled a lot of his commoner friends — even some of peasant extraction. And what with his plans to develop the Renuvian Plains there will be a lot of new fiefs. New fiefs means new titles. She probably thinks there’s more than a fair chance that Eynurm will be starting his own House in a few years.”

“Ah, I see.” Ryhunzo’s eyes lit up “Clever lass. She wants in on all that. And she’s right too. New nobles may not be as prestigious as those born to old Houses, but they’re still more impressive than commoners. Eynurm will be kind of both, though. He’s born into old nobility, but his House will be new. Who’s going to know — or care — on the Plains, anyway?” He shrugged and tilted his head. “I don’t see how she can make our friend marry her, though. Pregnant or not.”

“But oh, there’s a distinct possibility she could,” Obyann intervened. “The crucial part seems to be that she claims Eynurm forced himself upon her. She wants the prince to speak justice in his capacity as lord governor. I don’t know why, but it made Anaxantis all upset. I never saw him so… disturbed.”

“But why?” Rahendo asked, puzzled.

“I think I know why our liege was unsettled,” Ryhunzo said. “Mistress Iselda wants Anaxantis to emulate his long-time-ago predecessor, Prince Pie. Now, anywhere else but in the Northern Marches — no, anywhere else but in Lorseth she might not have had a snowball’s chance in Murokthil to make her demand stick, but in this case she rests her case on the precedent of Prince Pie’s judgment.”

“Prince Pie? Who is this Prince Pie, Pookie?” Rahendo asked, even more nonplussed.

 

The post Excerpt from Murder in Lorseth appeared first on Ximerion.

On occasion, and to my great surprise, my own series, Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse, has been compared to Games of Thrones. More specifically as a gay version of Martin’s far more successful series.

It always annoyed me, whether the comparison was meant in a flattering way or not (more often not), because there was no way I could have been influenced by George R.R. Martin's series. I never read it, nor have I seen the TV series. I did read the description of a few events occurring in Martin’s books, and I recognized some of the themes because I had used them myself.

Where the similarities just coincidences? I think I've solved the mystery. You can read more in this blogpost on my website, Ximerion.

My tattered copy of Le Roi de Fer

In 2012 — how time flies — I wrote a blogpost about the risks for writers of creative contamination when reading novels too close to their own niche.
 
On occasion, and to my great surprise, my own series, Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse, has been compared to Games of Thrones. More specifically as a gay version of Martin’s far more successful series. I hadn’t, and haven’t, read Games of Thrones. Are the similarities just coincidences?

 
I think I’ve solved the mystery.

 

Bleed Through

It always annoyed me, whether the comparison was meant in a flattering way or not, because there was no way I could have been influenced by George R.R. Martin’s series. Games of Thrones was on my TBR pile, but after reading a few of those reviews I became a bit shy of involuntary “bleed through.” So I still haven’t read Games of Thrones, nor have I seen the TV series. I did read the description of a few events occurring in Martin’s books, enough to recognize certain themes, some of which I had used myself in Dark Tales. All the more reason to stay far away from Games of Thrones for fear of creative contamination, I concluded.
 
Nevertheless, it kept intriguing me. Where did the (probably) superficial similarities originate from? A complete mystery, until… I read the blurb of the English translation of a French series of historical novels from the 1950s, Les Rois Maudits by Maurice Druon. The translated version is called The Accursed Kings, and in the blurb George R.R. Martin is cited: “This is the original Games of Thrones.”
 
Aha.

 

The Original Dark Tales of Randamor the Recluse

Aha indeed. I read Les Rois Maudits, to call the series by its original name, a long time ago in the very affordable French Livre de Poche mass paperback edition. All the more affordable since I bought all seven volumes at a secondhand bookstore. By now I‘ve reread them at least five times. Sometimes I’m tempted to read a fragment, or just the opening paragraphs of the first book, Le Roi de Fer (The Iron King), but I don’t. I know I’ll probably keep on reading until I’ve finished the whole series once again.
 
Les Rois Maudits tells the story of the last direct Capetian kings of France, among many other things. The underlying theme is how the hatred of one Robert d’Artois, who obsessively tries to recuperate his inheritance, the county of Artois, will eventually lead to the Hundred Years’ War between France and England.
 
Before we get there, we encounter publicly castrated and quartered young noblemen, a strangled captive queen, the demise by burning at the stake of the Templars, whose last Grand Master curses King Philip the Fair and his descendants down to the thirteenth generation (hence the title of the series), the (presumed) poisoning of an infant king, just a few days old, the murder of the homosexual English King Edward II by the introduction of a red hot iron into “the place with which he hath sinned,” and many, many other cruel and extra-ordinary occurrences. Add to that a lot of internecine strife, backstabbing, intrigues, murders and passions, and you can see how The Accursed Kings has been an inspiration for certain events in my own books.
 
And that’s it. My books weren’t and couldn’t have been inspired or influenced by Martin’s Games of Thrones, but there is another connection. We are both longtime fans of Maurice Druon’s Accursed Kings.

The post Mystery Solved appeared first on Ximerion.

After a long hiatus, I started writing again about a year ago. Very slowly at first. What I’ve produced is in various states of completion.

They tell us that we should meet readers’ expectations. If you’re known for writing Epic Fantasy with Gay Main Characters, that’s it. You can’t write anything else, unless you do it under a new pen name. You should never confuse readers.

As usual, I’ve ignored well meant advice. Nothing of what I’ve written so far could be called Epic Fantasy.

Find out more (and an excerpt) in this blogpost on my website, Ximerion.