Fiction Friday: J.L. Gribble’s Steel Victory

At Speculative Chic, we feature a lot of authors who share everything from their favorite things to the inspiration for their work. But why not also share their fiction? Welcome to Fiction Friday, where you’ll be able to sample the fiction of a variety of authors, including those who write at Speculative Chic! Today, we’re featuring our very own J.L. Gribble. J.L. is also the author of the Steel Empires series, which combines urban fantasy and alternate history for some surprising results. Book 1, Steel Victory, was originally published in 2015. This summer, a special hardcover edition with the author’s preferred text and other additional bonus features will be available on July 15. Even better, four more books are available in the series once you’re hooked. Keep reading for more!

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About the Book

Steel Victory (2015; revised ed. 2020)
Written by: J.L. Gribble
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Alternate History
Pages: 210
Series: Steel Empires #1
Publisher: Dog Star Books

One hundred years ago, the vampire Victory retired from a centuries-long mercenary career. She settled in Limani, the independent city-state acting as a neutral zone between the British and Roman colonies on the New Continent.

Twenty years ago, Victory adopted a human baby girl, who soon showed signs of magical ability.

Today, Victory is a city councilwoman, balancing the human and supernatural populations within Limani. Her daughter Toria is a warrior-mage, balancing life as an apprentice mercenary with college chemistry courses.

Tomorrow, the Roman Empire invades.

This revised edition features the author’s preferred text, a new introduction by author Lee Murray, a previously unpublished short story featuring Victory, and the essay “Limani: A Brief History” by Lady Zhinu Zhuanxu-Wallace.

Pre-Order the Special Edition Hardcover at: Amazon || Books-a-Million || Publisher

Revised Edition Now Available in Paperback and eBook from: Amazon || Barnes & Noble || Books-a-Million || Publisher

The Rest of the Series

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Steel Victory Excerpt

In another lifetime, Victory spent her nights hustling for money in the fight ring, conning coin out of men who never believed a woman possessed skill with a blade. Finding a willing meal in one of those same men, then vanishing before the dawn.

In another lifetime, Victory spent her evenings in the greatest courts across two continents, leveraging her reputation as a dedicated bodyguard in the service of powerful women. Protecting ladies whose rivals would see them dead, and building a reputation as one of the most famed mercenaries in centuries. She never worried where her next meal came from.

In another lifetime, Victory spent her evenings praying to any mythical beings who might exist that she live through another day, another hour, as bombs rained down and destroyed all she vowed to protect. She didn’t feed for days.

Tonight, in this new lifetime, she awaited a boat.

Victory tapped the fingers of her right hand against her thigh in a steady rhythm as a lone moth circled the overhead fluorescent light. Each beat counted the movement of a blade as she dueled an imaginary opponent in her mind’s eye. Lunge, slash, parry — launch into a forward roll, hamstring her partner — reset, en garde. On the bench at her side, her daywalker Mikelos made another notation in pencil on the blank sheet music spread across his lap. To him, the beat of fingers against denim in the tempo he’d set for her represented the music of a full orchestra, a hundred instruments in his head as he worked on his latest symphony.

A dock worker in a battered coverall entered the customs house’s sparse waiting area. She paused her tapping, which distracted Mikelos from his work.

“Ms. Connor?”

Victory jabbed a thumb toward Mikelos. “He’s Mr. Connor. I’m just Victory.” The only name she’d known in her long lifetime.

The dock worker scrunched a rag in his oil-stained dark hands. “Sorry. Master Rhaavi asked me to pass a message.”

Fear and hesitation twisted from the man’s skin, along with undertones of a scent Victory could not identify offhand. Forest and shadow. She forced herself to stay seated — the poor guy might bolt from the room otherwise. She checked the embroidered name patch at his chest. “Go ahead, Taba.”

Taba opened his mouth, but hesitated. The rag twisted again in his grasp. Steeling himself, he said, “The, ah, river transport isn’t stopping.”

Visions of the two-hundred-foot-long riverboat careening into the docks to crush the Limani customs house — and them in it — with tumbling cargo containers flashed through her mind. Then Victory interpreted Taba’s true meaning. The riverboat intended to pass them by.

Mikelos rolled his sheet music and shoved it into the pocket of his cargo pants as he rose. “Where’s Rhaavi?”

Taba tucked the abused rag into his own pocket. “His office. Want me to take you?”

“Please,” Victory said. She and Mikelos followed Taba along a hallway. “I guess he got the radio fixed?”

“Part came down from the Brits last week, and I supervised the elf who installed it. That’s how he got word.” Taba hesitated as they approached the glass door that separated the open waiting and processing area from the offices.

Mikelos and Taba’s own visages reflected in the light, but Victory knew she appeared as a shadowy echo to Mikelos, and to Taba not at all. A startling sight no matter the circumstances, but Victory had neither the time nor the patience to explain the mystical physics of life as a vampire. She stalked between the men, pushing her way through the door. If Taba could see her reflection, it would appear no different than the evidence of his own eyes. A woman of average height, auburn hair pulled into a long braid. Paler than most, maybe, but not a distinguishing characteristic on its own.

Taba regained his equilibrium and led them through an open office area brimming with file cabinets but lacking any occupants in the late hour. Taba’s coworkers waited for the riverboat outside in the warm night, leaving the room with an eerie abandoned air. The low fuzz of static emanated from one office.

After the destruction caused during the Last War, traditional wireless communication became impossible. The elves had found a way around it, but kept control of the necessary enchantments. Victory suspected they wanted to keep the pesky warmongering humans from getting out of hand again.

“Master Rhaavi?” Victory knocked at the doorframe before stepping into the cluttered office. “Everything okay?”

The customs master hunched over a small table covered in old electronics. He raised one hand for silence and twisted a knob on the radio unit. “Limani calling Roman One Three Nine. Come in, One Three Nine. Over.”

The radio spurted more static. Rhaavi wheeled his chair away from the table. “Nothing but noise for the past ten minutes.” He rubbed his bald head, shiny with sweat. “Guess you two should have a seat.”

“What’s going on?” Victory moved a stack of folders on one chair to the floor before sitting. “Taba said the boat wasn’t stopping. How far away is it?”

“I got the first call maybe twenty minutes ago?” Rhaavi shuffled through the forms on his desk. He found the appropriate paper and handed it to Victory. “Captain told me he received conflicting orders and he might be late. He radioed again a few minutes later, saying something about his new orders to skip Limani and continue to his stop in Calverton.”

The scrawled handwriting revealed no further detail, so Victory replaced the paper on the untidy desk. This made no sense. Why go straight to the British colonies to the north? Limani was a good trade customer, and the riverboat must have deliveries to make.

But it still had to sail past the city to continue along the Tranosari Bay toward Calverton. They had a chance. “We can’t let that happen,” Victory said. “We need to borrow a boat.”

Rhaavi shifted in his chair, which creaked with his movement. “You two are nuts. Yeah, some deliveries might be missed, but that’s the shipper’s problem. People here’ll complain and it’ll get made up. Some British stockholder must’ve thrown his weight around.”

“That boat is going to Calverton.” Victory emphasized the destination. “My sire is onboard as a registered passenger. If it docks in the British colonies, he will be sought and killed.” This time, she did bare fangs and suppress a growl.

Realization dawned for Rhaavi. “Asaron is coming. I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was expected today.”

“It’s okay.” Victory backed away. “But now we need your help. Keys to a boat, at least. And I don’t suppose you have any sort of armory here?”

The customs master darted around his office, opening a safe in the corner and retrieving a revolver and a box of bullets. “Why would we need weapons here? But I’ve got this, and you’re welcome to it if you think you might need it. Taba!”

The dockhand poked his head in the office from where he’d lurked outside. “Sir?”

“These two need to borrow a boat. Make sure the Anchorless is ready to go.” Rhaavi handed the gun and ammunition to Mikelos. “My grandfather passed this on to me. I want it back, you hear?”

Mikelos tucked the box under his arm while he inspected the revolver. “You have my word.” He popped a moon clip into the cylinder.

“You don’t want to call anyone for backup?” Rhaavi asked. “Asaron is Mercenary Guild, right?”

“No time,” Victory said. They accepted good wishes from Rhaavi as they followed Taba out of the customs house, but she veered toward the parking lot once outside.

So much for a simple evening, reuniting with her sire Asaron after his latest mercenary contract in the Roman holdings to the south. Perhaps catching up on news and gossip over dinner in town. Victory had relinquished her own mercenary career decades ago, retiring to the independent city of Limani after the Last War. Following the upheaval of the city’s political system decades ago, her quiet life vanished when she accepted a permanent seat on the ruling council representing the city’s vampires. However, those vampires consisted of her and Asaron, and her power was more titular than anything else. These days, she used her sword to stay in practice and train with Mercenary Guildmembers, not for defense.

She unlocked the trunk to withdraw her beloved hand-and-a-half bastard sword, sheathed in a battered leather scabbard. She’d wield it with pride to protect the vampire who’d saved her life for the first time eight hundred years ago.

***

Gripping the Anchorless after untying the small fishing boat, barely more than a dinghy, from its berth at the Limani docks, Taba looked caught behind words he couldn’t express. Victory scooted to the other side of the prow. “What’s wrong?”

“You, ah, want me to come? I might be able to help.”

His scent of fear returned, crisp and dark, overlaying the boat’s fishy aroma. “No, kid, we’ll be okay,” Victory said. She gave him a closer study. He had broader shoulders than the more common varieties of werepanther. “You’re a, what?”

“Leopard, ma’am. Sinai Clan.”

That explained both his dark skin and shoulders, and he hadn’t even hit his full bulk yet. “You’re also young, Taba, strong as I’m sure you are. Don’t worry, we’ve done this sort of thing before. But thanks. And call me Victory.”

“You’re welcome, Victory. I’ll be here when you get back.” He shoved the boat away, setting them adrift.

Mikelos started the outboard engine, and with a low rumble, they skimmed out over the river. “We’ve never actually done something like this before.” Her daywalker’s low voice carried over the engine and wind. “Unless you’ve never told me about your time as a pirate. We should have brought the leopard.”

“I’ve never been a pirate, but I’ve had cause to board a ship or two. And I’m not risking the leopard.” Victory scanned the dark water for the slow-moving barge’s lights. “The Sinai Clan is dying out over here, and no one knows how they’re faring in Europa. Genevieve would have my head if the kid got hurt.” The leader of the werepanthers in Limani defended her folk with all the passion of a
mama cat. The wolves might have the reputation for being a close-knit pack, but the felines had their own protective instincts.

“True, very true. See anything?”

Brilliant summer stars and a waxing moon bathed the world in pale silver, reflected twice over by the undulating surface of the river. Victory caught a faint golden glow in the distance. “There! Cut the engine.”

The low rumble faded into silence. “How’re we going to reach them?” Mikelos asked.

“It’s hugging this shore,” Victory said. “We can drift to them. We’re shielded by the front of the barge itself.”

Using an oar to steer, Mikelos kept them head-on to the barge until it came within reach. The growl of the slow-revving diesel engine camouflaged any splashes they made.

Victory uncoiled a line of rope and lassoed one of the barge’s cleats. The transport rode low in the water, laden to the maximum limit with dozens of massive shipping crates. After pulling the smaller boat toward the barge, she secured them together to prevent the sides from scraping and betraying their presence.

“I’m going up.” She double-checked her weapon. “You coming, or do you want to stay here and guard our retreat?”

“No close-range weapons.” Mikelos left the stern to give her a boost. “One shot from me, and the whole crew will be on us. I’ll stay here and be ready to drive the getaway car. Give a shout if you need me.”

“You’ll hear more than shouting if I need you.” Victory hauled herself over the edge and onto the barge’s deck. Good thing she hadn’t dressed up to welcome her sire home—grime from the side of the hull streaked the front of her jeans. With one last wave to Mikelos, Victory darted between the shipping containers stacked in the front of the barge. She made her way toward the rear of the vessel, where the working and living quarters for the crew should be.

The real question concerned Asaron’s location. They neared Limani, but had not yet passed it. He might not even be aware of the change in his travel arrangements. If all else failed, she could sit tight in hiding and wait for the mayhem when her sire figured out his new destination. Even before the British colonies launched their crusade against vampires, echoing their homeland’s long-held discrimination policies, Asaron refused to travel there. Something about a woman.

But she had no guarantee Asaron was still loose on the riverboat. The captain might have ordered him restrained at once upon learning his new orders in order to prevent harm to his crew. Either way, Victory needed to find him now.

Could it be possible to take over the boat and force it to dock at Limani? Rhaavi didn’t seem too concerned. She paused, placing a hand against the side of a container damp with evening dew. But if Asaron landed in Calverton, as a registered passenger of this ship, his odds of escaping the city were slim.

She kept to the shadows when she neared the rear of the barge. Mythology and legend skewed reality to her detriment, and no psychic link connected her with her sire. Instead, hearing heartbeats warned her of anyone approaching, her one main advantage.

Speaking of which—the dull roar of blood echoing through a heart’s chambers alerted her along with the gentle rhythm of a crewmember’s footsteps. She crouched between two containers in the last row, sinking to her heels. Her right hand found its way to the hilt of her sword.

A shaggy-faced man in no apparent uniform wandered through the space between the cabin bulkhead and cargo, swathed in a cloud of dissipating cigarette smoke as an explanation for his evening stroll. Making a split-second decision when he passed by, Victory lunged from the shadows and grabbed his coat, then hauled him between the containers.

She pushed him against the sturdy metal, bracing her forearm across his throat. “Don’t scream.” She dug her arm into his neck, not enough to cut off air or circulation, but enough to show she meant business.

He didn’t even try to open his mouth, and his face shone with fear. He dipped his chin in a short jerk.

“Good,” Victory said. “I do not intend to hurt you. I’m only here for one thing on this boat. Understand?”

“Yes’m.” A mere whisper, but the reek of too many days on the boat with not enough toothpaste washed over her. “You’re here for the vampire?”

“Smart man.” Victory loosened her hold a mere fraction, but stayed tense, ready to restrain him if needed. “You know what will happen if this boat continues to Calverton with him on it?”

“He’ll die. Cap knows this, but made us lock him up anyway. Said we couldn’t afford trouble. But Asaron don’t deserve that. He’s been a passenger on our route a few times, never done me wrong.”

“Well, I’m here to relieve your captain of his problem. You can either take me to him, or tell me where he is.”

“I’ll tell you, but you better do something with me. So I can tell Cap I resisted.”

“Fair enough,” Victory said. He asked for it. It was obvious Asaron had made an impression, which surprised her not in the slightest.

The man gestured toward the aft of the boat, from the direction he’d come. “Follow the side all the way. It’s the first door you come to. Asaron’s locked in the second cabin.” He paused, apologetic. “I don’t have a key, and I don’t know who’s keeping it.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be an issue.” Victory released the man. “Asaron and I are in your debt.” He met her eyes for the single second she needed. “Sleep.”

The crewman dropped like a stone at the mental push behind her command, and Victory grabbed him before he slid to the deck. She lowered him into a comfortable position, arranging his arms and legs enough akimbo to appear like he’d put up a fight before losing. Lying in the shadows, he’d be invisible to a casual glance between containers. She knelt next to him, centering herself. Messing with people’s brains always made her uncomfortable.

She peered outside the cargo area once again. With no one in sight, she crept out of hiding. The crewman had given excellent directions, leading her through a deserted section of the riverboat crew quarters. The outside door proved unlocked, so Victory knelt low before pulling it open. She peeked around the corner, but the passageway stood empty. Without unloading to do in Limani, the other crewmembers enjoyed a quiet night before reaching Calverton around dawn.

Hugging the wall, Victory darted to the second door. She pressed her ear against it. Movement inside, footsteps pacing, no heartbeat. Asaron. She tried the knob despite the man’s warning. Locked, and her without her lock picks. That was the problem with spur-of-the-moment adventures—no time to pack the essentials.

She rapped out a staccato beat on the door. The movement inside halted. She knocked a second time, repeating the code.

She sagged against the wall at the answering pattern, then stepped away from the door, ready to kick it in. Drastic, but she didn’t have many other options unless she wanted to hunt down the captain for the keys. Mikelos would have to be ready to go when they came tearing back.

A door farther up the hall slammed opened.

“Hands on your head. Now! Back away from the door!”

She pivoted on her heels to confront the new arrival, raising her arms as she did.

He aimed a crossbow at her chest. Shot with any accuracy, the crossbow’s wooden bolts threatened vampires as much as anyone else. He kept a handgun holstered at his waist.

The man dressed better than his more helpful crewmember, and when he shifted the crossbow for a better aim, Victory caught the glint of gold at his collar. She had the honor of meeting the captain.

A muffled shout echoed from on deck, as someone discovered her unconscious friend. Victory wasted no time when the captain’s fierce attention broke, diving for his legs. They crashed into the wall. He cried out in pain when they landed in a heap, and the crossbow clattered to the floor. He made a quick grab for his handgun, but Victory drew faster, snatching the firearm and pressing it to his throat. He flinched away and raised his hand from the holster.

With slow movement, Victory untangled herself from the man’s legs and crouched over him. Rising to her feet, aim never wavering, she favored her prisoner with a glare honed by centuries of proving herself against larger opponents. “I want the keys to this cabin.”

The captain conceded defeat without a word. Careful not to make sudden movements, he withdrew a single key from his breast pocket.

“Slide it over to me.”

He followed instructions, and Victory scooped up the key. She slid it into the doorknob, and with a small snick, the door swung inward. “Asaron?”

A deep voice answered. “Right here, girl.”

Tension released in Victory’s shoulders. “Grab your things, we’re out.”

“Way ahead of you.” A hand touched her back for the briefest moment, and her sire darted past her into the passageway and to one of the other closed cabin doors. She focused on the captain at her feet but caught a glimpse of Asaron’s tall form before he disappeared again.

More shouts from outside. They’d found Mikelos. “Asaron, we have to go!” Time to rescue the rescuer. She gestured with the pistol. “Into the cabin with you, my good sir.”

The captain scooted across the floor on his rear into the small cabin Asaron had vacated. His mouth opened, but Victory pulled the door closed and locked it before any excuses or curses could pour forth. She had no time for either. That should help keep the barge off their tail for a short time once they made their escape.

Asaron emerged into the hallway from the other cabin. He wore his familiar long leather duster over jeans with his ever-present rucksack slung over one shoulder. He belted his Schiavona around his waist, with its distinctive iron hilt. A second sword peeked out the top of the rucksack, wrapped in canvas. She led him outside onto the deck. Asaron remained silent. They’d worked together for centuries — they didn’t need words. But Asaron by her side increased her confidence exponentially. She had absolute faith Mikelos could hold his own, but Asaron’s combat experience dwarfed even her own.

The rear of the ship was deserted, the deck railing and river spread out before them. She tossed the key into the water and listened for more shouts. “See anything?”

“Nope,” Asaron said. “Got a boat?”

“How else do you think we got here? Mikelos is driving.”

“Then let’s get out of here.”

Victory retraced her steps. All the noise came from where she’d left Mikelos. They ducked between cargo containers, dashing through the maze toward the opposite end of the boat.

The shouting resolved into distinct orders. “Move, and we’ll cut your line. Where’s your friend?”

At the voice ahead of her, she halted Asaron with an arm across his chest. She crouched to spy around one of the containers, not wanting to attract attention yet. Three men stood at the deck railing with their backs to her. She couldn’t tell whether they were armed.

Mikelos’ voice carried over the edge of the craft. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Your captain made the arrangements for me to ferry a friend out here for him since you weren’t stopping in Limani. Guess he didn’t want to share.”

Excellent stalling tactic. Victory approved. Straightening, she strolled out from between two of the metal containers wearing her best innocent expression. “What seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?” She sauntered toward the railing, all but batting her eyelashes.

The center sailor sneered at her, revealing few teeth. “Who’re you?”

“A visitor. You can check with your captain. He should still be in his bunk.” Ignoring the men, she peered over the edge of the deck to Mikelos. “Ready to go?”

In answer, Mikelos pulled loose the rope knot tied to their little fishing vessel.

When Victory swung one leg over the railing, the man of poor dental hygiene grabbed her arm. “Not so fast, girl.”

She bared fang. He yelped and stumbled back. Taking advantage of the opening, she dropped to the waiting boat. It rocked with the impact, but she regained her balance and checked above her.

Asaron appeared next to the men at the railing. He tossed his rucksack to Victory, then pitched himself over the edge of the ship with a smooth dive into the water. The sailors gaped as Victory shoved the boat from the side of the barge and Mikelos revved the engine. One drew a pistol from his belt and aimed.

Victory dropped to the deck as a bullet whizzed by. “Get down!”

More bullets hit the water around them. Good thing Asaron didn’t need to come up for air.

The fishing boat drew away at top speed, such as it was. The crew shouted, but the shots ceased. They weren’t being paid to keep vampires prisoner.

Water lapped at Victory’s fingers.

“This isn’t good,” Mikelos said.

The boat listed to the side when Asaron hauled himself onboard. He shook wet hair, red darkened to burgundy, out of his eyes and peeled off his long coat. “Thanks for the rescue, kids.”

Mikelos stared at the bottom of the craft. “You might have been better off in the water.” A bullet had cracked the hull, allowing water to flow in.

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About the Author

By day, J.L. Gribble is a professional medical editor. By night, she does freelance fiction editing in all genres, along with reading, playing video games, and occasionally even writing. She is currently working on the Steel Empires series for Dog Star Books, the science-fiction/adventure imprint of Raw Dog Screaming Press. Previously, she was an editor for the Far Worlds anthology.

Gribble studied English at St. Mary’s College of Maryland. She received her Master’s degree in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University in Greensburg, Pennsylvania, where her debut novel Steel Victory was her thesis for the program.

She lives in Ellicott City, Maryland, with her husband and three vocal Siamese cats. Find her online (www.jlgribble.com), on Facebook, and on Twitter and Instagram (@hannaedits).