The best thing about this book is the cover art. It reads like scraps scavenged from Neil Stephenson's garbage can circa 1991, but lacking Stephenson's wit, talent, and breadth of knowledge. The protagonist, Samuil Petrovitch, is a Marty Stu if I ever saw one. Not only is he a guff-talking, stree...
The wind blustered at her back, and the black line of cloud came at a gallop, pulled in from the wild ocean by white horses. She didn’t know what she’d do when she got there. There was a dragon, and she would fight it in the sky, while the rain lashed down and the thunder ...
Ullmann had taken his turn tied to the barge like some draught animal, walking along the bank and helping to guide it along. Everyone had, except Vulfar who’d broken at least a couple of ribs and was lucky not to have pierced a lung. They’d laid him out in the cabin, and just got on with the job....