#HistFicThursdays - Conquist - Dirk Strasser - Book Excerpt

 Today for #HistFicThursdays, I am to once again be teaming up with The Coffee Pot Book Club, this time to share an excerpt from Dirk Strasser's fantastic new book Conquist!

First of all, let's meet the book...

Capitán Cristóbal de Varga’s drive for glory and gold in 1538 Peru leads him and his army of conquistadors into a New World that refuses to be conquered. He is a man torn by life-long obsessions and knows this is his last campaign.

What he doesn’t know is that his Incan allies led by the princess Sarpay have their own furtive plans to make sure he never finds the golden city of Vilcabamba. He also doesn’t know that Héctor Valiente, the freed African slave he appointed as his lieutenant, has found a portal that will lead them all into a world that will challenge his deepest beliefs. And what he can’t possibly know is that this world will trap him in a war between two eternal enemies, leading him to question everything he has devoted his life to - his command, his Incan princess, his honor, his God. 

In the end, he faces the ultimate dilemma: how is it possible to battle your own obsessions . . . to conquer yourself?

You can buy Conquist via this link.

And here's an excerpt to whet your appetite:

Chapter 4

The Honor of the Fathers

Surrounded by snowdrifts from the previous night’s storm, Cristóbal and Diego fought to stand firm against the mountain wind. Cristóbal pushed his crossbow hard against his shoulder and took aim at a herd of alpacas on a far slope. He cherished these moments alone with his clever cousin, free from the burden of command which had grown every day since they had left Machu Picchu.

“You really think I’ll be able to hit one of the alpacas from here?”

Although Diego had some of his cousin’s height, in all other ways he was physically his opposite. Diego was soft where Cristóbal was firm. He stooped where the Capitán stood unflinchingly rigid. His beard grew in wild tangles while Cristóbal’s face defiantly laid every blemish bare.

“The bolt will make the distance,” said Diego. “I can’t speak for your aim.”

Cristóbal smiled and widened his stance. “We both know it’s not my aim that’s the problem.”

“No, it’s usually what you aim at that we need to worry about.” Diego took a deep breath. 

“Cristóbal, please don’t tell me you’ve asked for her.”

“I like the feel of this new crossbow of yours.”

“Have you forgotten Incan emperors marry their sister? How can you install Huarcay as emperor when you’re obsessed with his sister?”

Cristóbal lowered his crossbow and glared at Diego. Although they had been inseparable since boyhood, tending the horses on his father’s diminishing lands, he often wished his cousin didn’t share his family’s stubborn streak. “Maybe instead of disapproving, you should find yourself a companion among the Incan servants.”

“Do you really need a princess?”

“Spain wouldn’t have an empire without the marriage of Isabella and Ferdinand. Great power comes from great alliances.”

“I can remember our fathers talking about honor above all else. Honra sobre todo. But when did our families ever speak about great alliances?”

“Isn’t that why we stowed away to the New World all those years ago, Diego? To find greatness?” Cristóbal lifted the crossbow to his chin again. “Can we finally put your new invention to the test?”

“Yes, Capitán.”

“Let’s make certain there’s no chance involved.” He raised his nose in line with the bolt. “Do you see the white one…there in the middle of the herd? That’s the one I’m aiming for.”

“The Incas believe the white alpacas are sacred.”

“Don’t worry. After we skin it, the Incas won’t be able to tell the color of its coat.”

Cristóbal welcomed the familiar surge of confidence as he took aim. His breathing steadied to a calm rhythm, his crossbow now part of his arm, the bolt head tingling as if it was his fingertip. Of course, he wasn’t going to miss.

The white alpaca raised its head as if sniffing a sudden wind change. A sharp twang pierced the crisp high-altitude air. The alpaca moved with lightning speed, but the bolt struck it in the throat mid-leap. It collapsed onto a snow drift as the other alpacas scattered in confusion.

Cristóbal turned the weapon around to examine it. “I have the feeling that this crossbow of yours will do something important.”

A clap of thunder echoed in the distance.

“Maybe,” said Diego, “but no crossbow can help us if we can’t find Manco Inca.” They led their horses toward the white alpaca. The snow-crested Andean peaks jutted from the low clouds in the distance, piercing the blue sky. “I hate telling you something else you don’t want to hear, but—”

“Ha, you love nothing better.” Cristóbal removed the bolt from the alpaca’s throat. “I’ll save you the trouble this time. I know the men are getting restless. We need to find Vilcabamba.”

“It’s more than restless. I hear things they would never say to your face.”

A sudden snow flurry stung their skin as they slung the animal over Cristóbal’s horse.

“Come, let’s get this alpaca back to camp,” said Cristóbal. “If we approach from the south, the Incas won’t see it’s white.”

***

By the time they had reached the campsite, the mountain peaks had disappeared behind billowing clouds, and it was clear another storm was on the way. The stench always drew Cristóbal back to the reality of his campaign. As usual he gagged. He fought to control his breathing, knowing he only needed to bear it a while and the pungency would fade. A man can grow numb to anything. Smells. Frustration. Even failure.

They had all been stuck on the plateau far too long. A company this size had to keep moving or it would drown in its own excrement. The storms had kept them trapped here for two weeks, and worse, they had no obvious path forward. Many of the soldiers had stopped donning their armor. They played card games, gambled for shares of future fortunes, and traded insults. Melting snow for water wasn’t a fit duty for a conquistador, and only so many hunters were needed each day. Worst of all, since leaving Machu Picchu six months ago, Cristóbal had seen no sign he was looking in the right place for Manco Inca’s hidden city. All he had was Huarcay’s assurances that they were close, while other conquistadors were searching elsewhere.

Lieutenant Rodrigo Benalcázar approached with the three soldiers he always seemed to have in tow, Carlos, Luis and Martín. The wiry lieutenant gave Diego a sideways glance, as if he was the cause of the stink that shrouded the camp. Although there had been no threat since Machu Picchu, Rodrigo was wearing his full armor, including breastplate, gorget, and arm and leg greaves.

Cristóbal asked, “Any news from the patrols, Lieutenant Benalcázar?”

“No, Capitán, but Lieutenant Valiente hasn’t returned yet. Should I send out a search party?” He glanced back at the three soldiers with a half-smile through his thin beard and collapsed cheeks. As always, he was keen to present his fellow lieutenant in the worst possible light.

“That won’t be necessary. He knows where we are.” Cristóbal indicated the alpaca behind him. “Could you get this skinned? And make sure the Incas don’t see it.”

“Why?”

“Diego tells me the white ones are sacred to them.”

“So? Are we now appeasing pagans?”

“No, of course not, but our campaign will falter without Huarcay’s support.”

“You mean it hasn’t faltered already, Capitán?”

Lightning lit up the clouds crowding the nearest mountaintop.

Cristóbal said, “When the storms finally ease, we’ll leave.”

“To where?” A clap of thunder rolled down the slopes.

“Wherever Huarcay directs us. He tells me we’re close to Vilcabamba.”

“Is it time for one of the other Incas to direct us, Capitán?”

Cristóbal stiffened. As usual Rodrigo was trying to test his authority. He was a hard and cunning man who had fought his way to where he was from the slums of Extremadura, the poorest region of Spain. He was the sort of man you wanted on your side in a fight, and who instinctively inspired obedience. “What are you saying, Lieutenant Benalcázar?”

“There are rumors, Capitán. The men talk.”

Were the three soldiers behind the lieutenant smirking? “If the men are wasting their time with gossip, then maybe you should make sure they have extra duties.”

“Yes, Capitán. I’ll see to it.”

Cristóbal dismounted and looked up at the darkening sky as Carlos, Luis and Martín carried the alpaca carcass away. Where was Héctor? This was not like him.

 Now, let's meet the author:

Dirk Strasser’s epic fantasy trilogy The Books of Ascension—Zenith, Equinox and Eclipse—was published in German and English, and his short stories have been translated into several European languages. “The Doppelgänger Effect” appeared in the World Fantasy Award-winning anthology Dreaming Down Under. He is the co-editor of Australia’s premier science-fiction and fantasy magazine, Aurealis.

Dirk was born in Germany but has lived most of his life in Australia. He has written a series of best-selling school textbooks, trekked the Inca trail to Machu Picchu and studied Renaissance history. “Conquist” was first published as a short story in the anthology Dreaming Again (HarperCollins). The serialized version of Conquist was a finalist in the Aurealis Awards Best Fantasy Novel category. Dirk’s screenplay version of Conquist won the Wildsound Fantasy/Sci-Fi Festival Best Scene Reading Award and was a featured finalist in the Cinequest Film & Creativity Festival and the Creative World Awards.

You can find the Dirk on these links:

Website - Twitter - Facebook - LinkedIn - Amazon Author Page - Goodreads - Dirk’s Blog

To follow the rest of the tour for Conquist, click on the banner below: