“Plough your mother,” the older man said, rounding angrily back on Arturo, finger pointed accusingly at Yizel. “If she gets to wear a mask, I reckon I fucking get a chance at it too. Half-masked stupid that someone who can take on a demon of the Wildlands doesn’t get to be a Bravador, just because he’s better with his fists than with a blade.”
Yizel said nothing, but looked at Arturo and raised an eyebrow.
“Just not Crazy Raccoon. Not that mask, not that name,” the older Bravador said. “Need a new one,” he continued, flexing his fists, his duelling gloves now gone, his knuckles bandaged. “I’m sure something’ll come to me.”
Giving a small smile, Arturo reached into his pocket again, and took out his final black mask, offering it to the man.
Crazy Raccoon took a moment to put his simple mask on, and then the three of them stood facing each other, giving shy smiles, as if meeting for the first time.
“So, where we off to now?” Crazy Raccoon - Arturo would struggle thinking of him as otherwise - asked.
“We?” Yizel challenged, indignant, her bruises still showing from Crazy Raccoon’s beating a few days ago.
Crazy Raccoon gave a winning grin. “Aw, don’t give me that. What’re we going to do, head back to Espadapan? They never liked Starving Pup, they’d rip that mask off you in a heartbeat, and they’d gut me like a pig and leave me for dead. We can’t head back there.”
“You want to travel together?” Arturo asked, guarded. He had hoped he and Yizel would have stuck together, but had not yet plucked up the nerve to ask her if she wanted a travelling companion. Never had he considered asking Crazy Raccoon.
“Why not? The Shaven, here-”
“Red Magpie,” Yizel interrupted.
Crazy Raccoon looked at her for a moment, and it seemed to Arturo that the Wilds held its breath, waiting for his reaction.
“Red Magpie, here,” Crazy Raccoon continued, as if acknowledging Yizel as a Bravador was the smallest thing in the world, “is the best fucking swordfighter I’ve ever seen. Me? Both times I’ve used my fists in combat, they’ve written stories about it.”
“They haven’t written any stories about the Shepherdess,” Yizel countered, rolling her eyes. “It was only a few hours ago.”
Crazy Raccoon smiled, slyly. “Oh, they will, Magpie. You can bet your mask they will.”
Arturo nodded in agreement.
Crazy Raccoon did not mention Arturo’s contribution to the team, but he did not have to. Arturo had already chosen his place, in the shadows of history. He would walk alongside legends like Red Magpie and Crazy Raccoon, but he would never be one of them.
But he would make a difference. The three of them, working together, could change people’s lives. They already had. The Bravadori needed people like this.
“Fine,” Yizel said finally, eyeing Crazy Raccoon. “We travel together, for a time. See what we can make of things.”
To Arturo’s surprise, Crazy Raccoon reached out with both arms, grabbing his companions around the shoulders, and pulling them close to him in a hug. “Can you feel it, world? This moment, they will sing about this moment. The joining of heroes. Come, my friends,” he said, letting go of them both and walking away from the village, “let us go and carve our names across the Wildlands.”
Arturo shook his head, smiling now. “Not just yet. There are homes to rebuild, people to mourn. Calvario still needs us.”
Crazy Raccoon paused, then turned red in the face again. “Building? Crying like children? These things are beneath the Bravadori.”
Arturo’s eyes lowered, thoughtful, and he looked back to the Wildfolk trying to remake normality from the horror today had brought them. He could see Yizel - Red Magpie - looking at them too, then she drank the rest of her ale and started to walk back to the village.
“Perhaps these things are beneath the Bravadori of Espadapan,” Arturo explained to Crazy Raccoon, who still seemed to be in shock at what was being asked of him, “but they are not beneath us. Today, we help the village.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” Arturo looked away from Calvario, across the flat nothingness of the Wildlands, dust storms curling across the brown land like the delicate hair on a newborn’s head.
“Tomorrow, we’ll see where that horizon takes us.”
This started out as a very different story.
Oh, the plot was in place from the beginning, and the main characters had been formed in my head years ago, but when I sat down to write this I thought I was writing a tale exploring some of the storytelling traditions of Central and South America, much like how Where the Waters Turn Black was a journey informed by Polynesian culture. Many of those trappings remain, particularly elements from more modern Mexican folklore, but about halfway through the first draft, I realised what my subconscious was being pulled towards when writing this book.
City of Swords is a book about heroes. Not heroes in the style of Swords & Sorcery stories. There’s no Conan in here to save the day with a flex of his muscles and a swing of his sword (although Crazy Raccoon would certainly cast himself in that role if he could). Instead, this book is about heroes as inspiration, something impossible to aspire to, but something inevitably unobtainable. Well, that’s kind of where things ended up heading. I’m pretty pleased with the outcome.
If you’ve been around since the beginning of the Yarnsworld, it’ll have become pretty apparent that the three novels pulled from it so far have been quite different from each other. In my enthusiasm (arrogance?) I wanted to make a world in which I could tell different types of stories - some dark, some innocent, some just balls-to-the-wall action. A year and a half on, I’m at the stage when I think I’ve achieved that. There are still plenty of new corners of the Yarnsworld to explore, but I think it’s time to revisit some old friends and see how they’ve been doing in our absence. As I write this, the first draft of From the Shadows of the Owl Queen’s Court is well underway, and I’m enjoying walking under the branches of a familiar dark and dangerous forest.
Until it is complete, as always, the best way to get the latest Yarnsworld info is to sign up for my newsletter. I send messages once or twice a month with updates on my writing and bits and pieces from the wider world of fantasy fandom. Newsletter readers also have access to a number of exclusive Yarnsworld tales, including the first ever appearance of a Bravador (in a very unlikely setting). I have a few surprises coming down the pipe before the next novel is released, and this will be your way of guaranteeing a seat in the front row.
Head HERE now to get your stories and to stay in touch.
The Magpie King and I look forward to meeting you again in early 2018…
Benedict
I didn’t walk down the streets of this story alone. The following heroes were there to lend me their blades when I called upon them, and I’ll forever be in their debt:
Scarlet Minx (known to some as Adele), my constant companion. Great Mouse knows how she endures me, but I couldn’t go on without her.
Foul-mouthed Owl (Laura), my daily wordsmith-mate. You owe me a liver.
The Scornful Schnauzer, who takes most of the blame for this acknowledgements page (thanks, Sean!).
Sprouting Bat (Mark), for enthusiasm when I needed it.
The Unexpected Iguanadon (Craig) and The Frenzied Robin (Helen), for sharing the book between themselves, and for the general day to day life stuff that we couldn’t go without.
The Bearded Gopher (known to five of us as ‘dad’), for your speed reading, and for not moaning about the swearing. And to mum (Fluffy Dormouse), for not reading it yet (because you wouldn’t like the swearing).
Ditzy Killer Kitty (Kat), for friendship, and for the crazy levels of detail you continue to give me.
Creeping Possum (Ágnes), for generous use of the best Knack an author could hope to call upon.
And the newcomers to the team:
Eats Ants (Timandra), for being the first to dive in, and for all the critical
fails when fighting jelly.
Tickled Trout (Richard/Biggus), for your brutality. For your honest, unfiltered, harsh brutality. You total fucker.
Thank you as well to the many stables that walked alongside us, the members of whom are too many to name individually, but they deserve to be on this page, especially the increasingly inaccurately named Terrible Ten, my elite Reading Knacks, the Crit Faced crew, and the awesome community on /r/fantasy.
Table of Contents
Contents
Title
Copyright Page
Welcome to the Yarnsworld
Chapter 1
The Lonely Farmhouse
Chapter 2
El Elephante and The Queen's Blades
Chapter 3
The Legend of the Black Shepherdess
Chapter 4
Silent Sparrow and The Balefire Witches
Chapter 5
The Sacking of Bajapena
Chapter 6
Roaming Iguana and the Ghost Girl
Chapter 7
The Story of Vengeful Badger
Chapter 8
The Lady's Revenge
Chapter 9
Crazy Raccoon and The Massacre at Morelia
Chapter 10
A Word From the Author
Acknowledgements
Those Brave, Foolish Souls from the City of Swords: A standalone Yarnsworld novel Page 32
