An Interview with FREYA ROBERTSON

Freya Robertson is the author of Heartstone, the first in the Elemental Wars series. It is her debut novel, and has already started to create some good buzz. After reading this interview, be sure to check out the excerpt from the novel, which I shared yesterday.

Let’s start with an introduction: Who is Freya Robertson?

Hi! I’m Freya, and I’m a Kiwi! That’s what New Zealanders call themselves — because this is the homeland of the flightless kiwi bird, and also we grow a lot of kiwi fruit here. I’m 44, married with one son, and a bit of a geek. Okay, a lot of a geek. :-)

I thought we’d start with your fiction: Your debut novel, Heartwood, will be published by Angry Robot in October. How would you introduce the novel to a potential reader? Is it part of a series?

Yes, it’s the first in The Elemental Wars series, and the second, Sunstone, comes out in March/April. In one way, it’s very traditional epic fantasy and will hopefully appeal to readers who love that genre, with its quasi-medieval European setting, its high stakes (the end of the world is nigh!), its cast of characters and its length — it’s the biggest book Angry Robot has produced so far, and will be useful for holding up the table once you’ve finished reading it!

Excerpt: HEARTWOOD by Freya Robertson (Angry Robot)

In advance of tomorrow’s interview with Freya Robertson, here is an excerpt (the whole first chapter) from the author’s debut fantasy novel, Heartwood – book one in The Elemental Wars…

CHAPTER ONE

I.

The belt hung from a hook in the doorway of a tent, weighed down by a bulging leather pouch. Gold coins shone at the top where the tie had loosened – an open invitation to the light-fingered.

The boy’s gaze alighted on it like a bird. He paused amidst the busy traffic on the main road into Heartwood, stepping out of the way of the carts and huge battle steeds that threatened to trample him.

He glanced around to make sure no one was looking and sidled over. A blue Wulfengar banner flew from the top of the tent, and he pulled a face at it as he reached out to take the pouch.

A large, strong hand clamped on his shoulder, and he jumped in fright. The hand belonged to a sturdy Wulfengar lord, his bristling face dark as thunderclouds.

“Laxonian.” The Wulfian sneered, and he spat on the page’s red tabard. “I might have guessed.”