Kevin Hearne - Hammered

My editor at Del Rey, Tricia Pasternak, is eternally encouraging and may be a Zen master of Soothing Anxious Authors. She exudes calm even through her emails. Here is one of her koans to boggle your mind: What is the sound of one subplot resolving?

Mike Braff, assistant editor, introduced me to Viking Death Metal, specifically a band called Amon Amarth and one of their songs called Twilight of the Thunder God. I had that playing on loop while I wrote the last battle scene, and now Im fighting the urge to buy a double-bladed axe and a drinking horn.

My copy editor, Kathy Lord, and my managing editor, Nancy Delia, both deserve a bottle of something Irish because Ive probably driven them to drink anywayit might as well be the good stuff. Theyve been a spectacular help, and Im grateful for their assistance.

My agent, Evan Goldfried at JGLM, happened to know a really cool rabbi, Jenny Amswych, who was kind enough to help me out with the Hebrew. I chose the kh spelling instead of the ch for the guttural sound, and I hope that doesnt ruffle any feathers. If there are any errors, please lay the blame at my door and not the good rabbis.

Eli Freysson in Iceland assisted with some of the Icelandic names, but please dont tease him if I messed up, because I tend to Anglicize things a bit.

Im grateful as always to my early readers, Alan OBryan and Tawnya Graham-Schoolitz. Nick Steinkemper also did me yeoman service on short notice.

Kimberly, Maddie, and Gail Hearne are the most supportive family members a writer could wish for, and I count myself blessed to be a part of their lives.

As with my other books, most of the physical locations (on this plane) are real, albeit used in a fictional way. If anyone does that $75 shot of whiskey at Rla Bla, drop me a line and let me know if it was worth it. Ill tell you right now that the Smithwicks with the fish and chips is always worth it.

Likewise, the teak motorcycle sculpture at the Huddle in Globe is worth a look. It gets even better after youve had a couple Big Boys. Im indebted to the owner, Tracy Quick, for a tour of downtown that included a rare glimpse of the old secret tunnels beneath the streets.

You can find me at www.kevinhearne.com. Im also on Twitter (@kevinhearne), and I hope to see you at a spiffy shindig of some kind. Maybe well meet at a sci-fi/fantasy or comics convention, catch a glimpse of Neil Gaiman, and squee in ultrasonic stereo.

Read on for a peek at the first two books
in The Iron Druid Chronicles

Hounded
and
Hexed
by
Kevin Hearne

Published by Del Rey

HOUNDED

I had Oberon stationed as sentinel on the edge of the lawn, close to the street. As the widow regaled me with tales of her Golden Age debauchery, I was depending on him to tell me of approaching danger.

he said, as the widow was winding up her tale with a sigh over better days in a better land,

Is he a stranger? I had put Fragarach aside while I talked with the widow, but now I stood and slung the scabbard back over my head, causing the widow to frown.

Uh-oh. Thats not good. Stay still and try not to make any noise.

Excuse me, Mrs. MacDonagh, I said, someones coming and he might not be friendly.

What? Who is it? Atticus?

I couldnt answer yet, so I didnt. I kicked off my sandals and drew power from the widows lawn even as I walked toward the street and peered northward. One of the charms on my necklace has the shape of a bear on it, and its function is to store a bit of magical power for me that I can tap when Im walking on concrete or asphalt. I topped off the magical tank as a possible antagonist approached.

A tall, armored figure clanked noisily on the asphalt a couple of houses away, and it raised a hand to hail me when I came into view. I activated a different charm that I call faerie specs, a sort of filter for my eyes that lets me see through Fae glamours and detect all sorts of magic juju. It showed me the normal spectrum, but then there was also a green overlay that revealed what was going on magically, and right now the two layers showed me the same thing. So whoever he was, I was looking at his true form. If he had something similar to my faerie specs, he might be able to see through Oberons camouflage, but then again, he might not.

He was wearing rather gaudy bronze armor that no one would have worn in the old days. The cuirass, faced in hardened leather dyed with woad, covered too much and restricted movement. He had leaf-shaped tassets hanging down over a bronze mail skirt. He also had five-piece pauldrons and matching vambraces and greaves. It would have been hot enough to wear such armor in Ireland, but here the temperature was still in the low nineties, and he must have been broiling in it. His helmet was beyond ridiculous: It was one of those medieval barbutes that didnt become popular until a thousand years after his halcyon days of slaughter, and he must have been wearing it as a joke, though I did not find it especially funny. A sword hung in a scabbard at his side, but thankfully he did not carry a shield.

I greet you, Siodhachan Suileabhin, he said. Well met. He flashed a smug grin at me through his helmet, and I wanted to slay him on the spot. I kept my faerie specs on, because I simply didnt trust him. Without some way to pierce his glamour, he could make my eyes think he was standing three feet away with his hands on his head while he was really plunging a dagger into my belly.

Call me Atticus. I greet you, Bres.

Not well met? He tilted his head a bit to the right, as much as the barbute would let him.

Lets see how the meeting goes. Its been a long time since we have seen each other, and I wouldnt have minded if it were longer. And by the way, the Renaissance Festival doesnt arrive here until next February.

Thats not very hospitable, Bres said, frowning. Oberon was right: He smelled of salt and fish. As a god of agriculture, he should smell of earth and flowers, but instead he retained the stink of the dockside, owing perhaps to his Fomorian ancestors, who lived by the sea. I could take offense if I wished.

So take it already and be done. I cant imagine why else you would be here now.

I am here at the request of an old friend, he said.

Did he request that you dress like that? Because if he did, hes not your friend.

Atticus, who is that? the widow MacDonagh called from her porch. I didnt take my eyes off Bres as I called back to her.

Someone I know. He wont be staying long. Time to set up my flanking maneuver. Speaking mind to mind, I said to Oberon, Remain still. But when I say, get behind him, grab a leg, and just yank him off his feet. Once hes down, jump clear.

Oberon said.

Bres continued as if the widow had never spoken. Aenghus g wants the sword. Give it to me and youll be left alone. Its that simple.

Why isnt he here himself?

Hes nearby, Bres said. That was calculated to ratchet my paranoia up a few levels. It worked, but I was determined it would not work in his favor.

Whats your stake in this, Bres? And whats with the armor?

That does not concern you, Druid. Your only concern is whether you will agree to give us the sword and live, or refuse and die. The last fingers of the sun were waving good-bye over the horizon, and twilight was upon us. Faerie time.

Tell me why he wants it, I said. Its not like Ireland has a High King who needs the Tuatha D Danann to help him out uniting all the various tribes.

It is not for you to question.

Sure it is, I said, but I guess its not for you to answer. Fragarach is right here. I gestured to the hilt peeking over my shoulder. So if I give it to you now, you walk away, and I never hear from you or Aenghus again?