"This is our first full-length novel. I spent a year playing with the concept and developing the world of the story in my head before we seriously began writing. My wife and I refined our writing process over the course of writing the Foreworld Saga Novella The Shield Maiden and that experience stood us in good stead writing this novel. We come up with ideas and plot-lines together, I do the 'gruntwork' of writing, then we go back over it together and Linda rewrites my tortured verbiage into something that a person might like to read. Works a treat. Funny thing is, we set out to write one kind of book and the characters, the world and the logic of the story took the book away from us and launched it in a whole different and better direction. Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman was written as a stand-alone book (and it is,) but as we tossed around ideas and brainstormed it became obvious that it is actually part of a series. You can look for the next book some time around late summer- it's already well underway!"
"It may seem a fine thing in song or story to be ankle-deep in the blood of your enemies but in reality it's slippery, smells bad and is nearly impossible to get out of your socks afterwards." From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson
In
Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman magic, science and technology work hand-in-hand to create a new kind of fantasy world with an underlying logic that makes it as real as a handshake from an old friend. Told with humor and humanity, it is a story of sweeping events seen from a 'ground-level' perspective by real people living and helping to shape the unique history of their world.
Engvyr's father gave up on the miner's life to move the family back to their ancestral home in the far north. But the journey is fraught with perils the young dwarf has never imagined, and when tragedy casts him in the role of hero, well, what's a dwarf to do? The events of that fateful journey have shaped and ruled his life, but now Engvyr wants nothing more than to make a place for himself, perhaps settle down and raise a family. But when a new enemy rises in the North he finds himself at the center of the conflict, with not merely the freedom of his people but the fate of all of humanity hanging in the balance... and the habit of heroism is a hard one to break.
Available from Amazon and Smashwords
About the Authors
Michael Tinker Pearce is a veteran of the US Army, an ex-police officer and has been a professional knife and sword-maker since 1992. He has written extensively about his profession, including a book,
‘The Medieval Sword in the Modern World.’ He lives in Seattle with his wife and co-author, Linda Pearce.
Linda S. Pearce has worked extensively with at-risk youth and in the field of dog, cat and horse rescue. She has been employed as a project coordinator and in the field of IT for nearly thirty years. She has trained as a theatrical sword fighter with the Seattle Knights. Her interests include reading, particularly fantasy and detective fiction, horseback riding, target shooting and her pets.
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Excerpt from Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman
“We dwarves do not know the nature of our creator. Whether The Maker was a man with the powers of a god, a god in truth or some other thing no living person can say. For all the long centuries of his dominion over our people we can say only one thing for sure: He was not bullet-proof.”- From the diaries of Engvyr Gunnarson
“Well, this is fun,” said Taarven as two crossbow bolts stuck in the log he was lying behind and a third ricocheted off.
Engvyr was lying flat on his back next to him looking up through the forest canopy with his long-rifle across his chest.
“I've had fun before,” he said mildly, “And I don't recall it feeling just exactly like this.”
Spotting movement from the corner of his eye he looked to his left and saw a goblin moving down the hill to flank them. He estimated the range and adjusted the big rifle's vernier sight. He took a deep breath, letting it half out as he rolled onto his side, quickly drew a bead and stroked the trigger. Whack! A split second later he heard a dull metallic 'ponk' as the heavy slug hammered through the target's breastplate. The goblin threw up his hands with a cry and fell out of sight.
Engvyr rolled flat again as another crossbow bolt slammed into a tree next to the toe of his boot. He looked at it sourly.
“I'll allow as I have had better times my own self,” Taarven admitted, “But at least the company is good.”
“That's three, by the way,” Engvyr told him.
“Oh are we keeping score now?” Taarven rose up and snapped off a quick shot with his carbine. As he fired a bolt skipped off his breastplate and tore the sleeve of his shirt. He rolled aside and flattened behind the log again. Glancing at the tear he said, “Damn, I liked this shirt.”
Engvyr had reloaded the rifle- a singularly awkward process while lying on his back. He took another deep breath and rolled to one knee and fired. Taarven heard a scream from up the hill and swore as Engvyr dropped flat on his belly.
“Don't you ever miss with that damned thing?”
Engvyr looked at him and grinned. “That's four.”
“Oh shut up.”
