This brand new short story focusses on Tollain Kintarsh, the drummer and founder of Gestalt, at a point in his life when he was still confined to a sterile, sealed environment, and the fate of his mother's legacy was in the hands of powerful, unscrupulous men...


This brand new two-part short story focusses on Verneen Halannim, Gestalt's shy and unassuming flautist.

 "Portents," the old man says. "Lights in the sky. Comets. Deformed babies being born. Wars and rumours of wars."

 He looks around. The pub is full of very young people, all smoking cigarettes, taking long, deep, reverential drags and letting the smoke out very slowly through their nostrils as though it were a sacrament, all drinking beer or vodka or cider, all talking very very seriously in small groups, doubtless about Life and Art and other such matters. Most of them are wearing black. The old man has long ago given up paying attention to what colour he is wearing.


This is a tale of Thandreling the Bard, who plied his trade in a land where, if mountains were pointy, they called them the Pointy Mountains. In this story Thandreling takes on a rogue bard with a deadly sense of humour.

Someone landed hard on top of me, and the patch of light slammed out. For a while my personal darkness was alive with sparkles, while I got my breath back. By the time I succeeded, the other fellow had rolled off and was lying nearby, cursing feebly.

My main problem with all this was that I had been unconscious till now, and had no idea how I had got here. The noise of the door opening must have roused me. When I could breathe again, I started thinking back.