A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to grab lunch with Diana Gill, executive editor of Ace Books, to talk about the new SF/F she’s excited about releasing into the wild this year. One of the titles she couldn’t stop talking about was an epic fantasy debut by Will Panzo (a former Marvel Comics editor turned emergency physician’s assistant turned, I suppose, novelist) that sounds like the kind of book we can’t get enough of: inventive magic, innovative world-building, irresistible characters, and more than a touch of darkness.

I can’t wait to read it, which is why I’m pleased that Ace has given us a chance to show off the cover and share an exclusive excerpt. You can check out both below the publisher’s blurb. The Burning Isle will be published November 1.

But trained on the Isle of Twelve, Cassius is no ordinary spellcaster, and his goal is not simply money. This a treacherous island where the native gods are restless, and anything can happen…

The mage Cassius has just arrived on the island of Scipio. Five miles of slum on the edge of fifty miles of jungle, Scipio is a lawless haven for criminals, pirates, and exiles. The city is split in two, each half ruled by a corrupt feudal lord. Both of them answer to a mysterious general who lives deep in the jungle with his army, but they still constantly battle for power. If a man knows how to turn their discord to his advantage, he might also turn a profit…



And here’s your exclusive excerpt:

1.

“I don’t want any trouble.”

The barkeep had accepted the coin without thought but he saw now its worth, saw too the dried blood caking it. He held it up in the dim light of the bar and squinted at it and then at the young man in the corner, as though appraising each by the other.

The young man suffered from the comparison. The coin was gold and the embossed spear on its back marked it as the product of a mint in Curicum, a mining settlement on the mainland. A good, honest mint and known for making coins worth their weight. The barkeep had not seen one of their pieces in years, not a real one anyway.

The young man looked neither good nor honest. He did not weigh much and his worth was suspect.

He sat with his back to the wall and his hands beneath the table. He was twenty or so, beardless and thin. The folds of his ash-gray cloak swallowed his small frame, a burial shroud draped over a skeleton. He had stooped shoulders and skin the color of whiskey, mud-brown eyes set deep in his head. His dark hair hung just past his ears. At a glance he could pass for a girl.

“You think it’s fake,” the young man said.

The barkeep rubbed the coin between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. He chipped away the dried blood with his nail. He bit the coin and his face grew slack, incredulous, as though he had tasted something unexpected.

“It’s good all right. Better than any gold piece I’ve seen in a long while.” The barkeep shuffled back to the table, walking with one hand on his lower back so that his belly seemed to lead him. He flipped the coin onto the table. It landed face-up, displaying the Antiochi eagle. “But I don’t have change for it.”

“I’ll buy a meal then. A meal for both of us. And drinks. What’s left is yours to keep.”

“You trying to make a friend, boy?” The barkeep was a heavy man, balding and with olive-hued skin. He had a fleshy face, not fat exactly, but full.

“Consider it a gift.” The young man picked up the coin and again offered it to the barkeep. His hand was small and clean. It practically shone in the dim light of the bar. “No good deed goes unrewarded, right?”

“No good deed goes unpunished. That’s the saying.”

“You don’t believe that.” The young man held out the coin, insistent.

“We’ve got fish,” the barkeep mumbled. He snatched the coin and tucked it into the pouch at his hip. “Bread from yesterday, too. It’s probably stale.”

“That’ll do.”

The barkeep fetched a bottle of wine and a pitcher of water. He set out earthenware plates and cups and then retired to the kitchen.

The main room of the bar was lit by candles set at each table and by a tall candelabrum near the entrance. A stone hearth was set in one wall, warm embers smoldering where there used to be a fire. A narrow staircase led to the second floor. Past the bar a door opened into a room that served as pantry and kitchen. The wall behind the young man bore a mural of a wolf cub suckling at the breast of a sleeping woman.

The barkeep returned from the kitchen with a platter of bread and steaming fish. They began to eat.

“My name is Cassius,” the young man said.

The barkeep grunted, his face low over his plate, eyes down.

“I don’t make a habit of eating with strangers.” Cassius sipped from his cup, watched the barkeep as he ate.

“Is that your coy way of asking my name?” The barkeep snapped without raising his head.

“I didn’t think it was so coy.”

“A word of advice, boy.” The barkeep gripped his fork as though prepared to defend himself with it. “Around here, you mind your fucking business and others will do the same. That may seem strange to a mainlander like you, but it’s our way.”

“Is that language necessary?”

The barkeep smiled. “My apologies.”

“Why do you assume I’m from the mainland?”

“Your delicate fucking sensibilities for a start. And your carelessness. No one from this island would walk into a bar and throw gold around the way you did. Not if he wanted to live long.”

“I can take care of myself,” Cassius said.

The barkeep laughed and began to choke from laughing. He sipped his wine.

“I’ve seen a hundred like you, boy. I know how your story ends.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Here for a bit of adventure, aren’t you? If you’re lucky this ends with you penniless, begging on the docks for passage off this stinking, rotting island. And if you’re not lucky… ” The barkeep waved his fork absently.

“I’m here to work,” Cassius said.

“Here to work? Hands me a coin worth more than I make in a month and then tells me he’s here to work. Ha! You are a strange one, boy.”

“I’m serious.”

“This island is five miles of slum dug into fifty miles of jungle. It’s a refuge for people who can’t live elsewhere in the Republic. Debtors and criminals and exiles. There’s no work here. No work for you anyway.”

“Why so eager to warn me off?” A wry smile played at the edges of Cassius’ lips.

“What’s your angle, boy?” The barkeep held his cup with both hands and stared over its rim. His eyes were small and gray. “Come in here, throw gold at me, then ask after work. I’d think you were a thief, but you’re too goddamn soft. Are you a whore?”

Cassius glared at the barkeep. He set down his cup. The barkeep laughed.

“Is that it? I have no problem with your kind. It’s not my way, but I know a good business opportunity when I see one. You can have the upstairs room for a cut of your take. We’ll make a fortune.”

Cassius lifted a pair of worn iron gauntlets from his lap and dropped onto the table. The gauntlets were lined with supple leather and had thirty jewels dusted over each finger and the dorsum of each hand. The jewels were multicolored, big as pebbles, and when they caught the candlelight they gleamed like sunrays on the edge of an eclipse.

“I’ve come for different work.”

The barkeep sat back in his chair. He pulled himself up to his full height, as someone might who has come across a bear in the woods and wishes to appear formidable before the beast.

“So you’re a killer?”

“That’s an unfortunate term,” Cassius said.

“Is it accurate?”

Cassius did not answer.

“At least tell me you’re good.” the barkeep said.

“Good enough to earn that coin in your purse.”

The barkeep looked the young man over and then looked back to the gauntlets.

“My name is Lucian,” he said, extending his hand.