Kiss Of Frost And Flame by Ken Czech

Publisher:  Fireship Press, (June 22, 2023)
Category: Historical Fiction, Romance/Action/Adventure, Romance/Historical/Medieval, War & Military
Tour Dates January 15-February 8, 20223
ISBN: 978-1611794113
Available in Print and ebook, 304 pages

Description Kiss of Frost and Flame by Ken Czech

When Defending the Homeland Means Defending Your Heart.

Siberia 1581. When Umey, a young outcast woman, stumbles on a ravaged
village, she uncovers a plot that threatens to devastate her beloved
homeland. It’s furs—soft gold—the invading Cossacks crave, and the
greediest of them is Yermak, the man who saved her life and raised
her.

Armed with fearsome muskets, the Cossacks plunge deeper into the
Siberian forest, crushing the tribal folk who stand in their way.
Although prejudices are arrayed against her, Umey emerges as a tribal
leader, albeit a reluctant one. She and Alexey, a Russian soldier who
has seen too much war, are soon caught in an unfolding crucible of
destruction where their courage and incipient love will be tested in a
final collision with Yermak and his horde.

Praise For Kiss of Frost and Flame by Ken Czech

“I was immediately drawn in by the atmospheric and descriptive effort that Czech put into his writing to bring the wilds of Siberia to life. I was fascinated by the customs and tribal people as well as the beauty of nature … Umey’s gentle but unwavering courage makes her a protagonist whom you grow to feel deeply for during the adventure. Overall, Kiss of Frost and Flame is a work that fans of historical adventures and cross-cultural writing are sure to enjoy as much as I did.”-K. C. Finn,  author of Caecilius Rex and The Book of Shade

Praise for Ken Czech

“… a truly excellent novel that readers will simply devour.”-K. C. Finn, author of the Caecilius Rex  series-THE TSAR’S LOCKET

“There were twist and turns throughout, but the climactic twist at the end really caught me off guard.”-Lesley Jones, for Reades’ Favorite-THE TSAR’S LOCKET

“I was drawn to this book due to a passionate interest in British history and a passing one in Russian history. The author does an outstanding job of weaving fact and fiction together in a backdrop of colorful and accurate description of the international culture of the first Elizabethan Era.
Those who shun romantic novels should not do so to this work. There are surprises and intrigue aplenty to thrill those who crave a bit of adventure. The history lover will be presented with information they may have never encountered.”- Caroleinwv, Amazon Review-THE TSAR’S LOCKET

“The journey is long and arduous over war-torn Europe from the fields of The Netherlands to the frozen marshes of Poland and Russia. Secrets are revealed, friendships are made and lost, terrible sacrifices are made, and by the thinnest of thinnest hopes Blunt finally makes it to the Promised Land. And then the locket is opened to reveal—
Well, I’ll leave that to you to find out. The journey itself is fascinating, a tour of 1580s Europe with its wars and religious squabbling, the fights over the dominance of one man by another, the lust for power of one nation over another. “-stephenmatlock.com, THE TSAR’S LOCKET

“Fans…of the Victorian era will find this book a gem.” – Historical Novels Review, BEYOND THE RIVER OF SHAME

“It’s a rollicking read … ” – Dr. Jim Casada, Sporting Classics Magazine, BEYOND THE RIVER OF SHAME

Excerpt Kiss Of Frost And Flame by Ken Czech

 Chapter One

A horse’s whinny pierced the smoke, causing Umey to flinch. Shadowy figures stirred beyond that nightmare mound and lurched toward her. She stared, fearing the dead had come to life, then stumbled backward, tripped, and landed on her backside with a startled, “Oomph!” Her arrow flittered harmlessly to the ground.

“It’s a heathen spy!” one of the shapes bellowed. “Shoot the bastard!”

The man’s words tumbled through her brain. He had spoken not in the Tatar tongue as she expected, but in Russian, Mama’s language. Great Mother! Did it mean Russians had killed Russians?

Umey scrambled to her feet and bolted toward the forest. A musket roared, its ball whistling overhead. She darted left to swerve behind trees and keep their boughs and trunks between the burning village and her. Another musket boomed.

Horses neighed and more voices shouted. Whoever had raided the camp and massacred its inhabitants now chased her! She sped down an animal trail and through a snarl of branches and brambles where horsemen would have difficulty guiding their mounts. Thorns plucked at her panitsa. A low-hanging bough snagged her hair and threw her off balance. Without warning, the thick brush ahead of her crackled and a tannish bulk heaved up. Liquid brown eyes wide with fear and tail upraised, a stag crashed away.

The upturned roots of a fallen pine offered a hiding place. Umey dropped to a knee behind the roots. Afraid her gasps might alert those who tracked her, she buried her mouth against her forearm and tried to think. While in the village, she had caught no more than a glimpse of the horsemen. A few wore the conical helmets favored by the Tatars and at least two of the raiders carried bows. However, there was no mistaking the roar of muskets and the whine and crack of lead balls clipping tree branches.

Shadows in the forest lengthened, then faded as the evening deepened. It never properly got dark during the summer in Sibir; the sky tinted more like burnt brass and indigo until the sun again peeked above the eastern horizon. White nights, that was what the Russians called the short night hours. How she wished for a different season when darkness and deep shadows would better hide her

Umey strained to listen above the pounding of her heart. The mounted men had turned south, their clamor dwindling to a murmur. They undoubtedly followed the stag she flushed, thinking it was her. Certain it was safe to leave the pine root sanctuary, she sucked in a deep breath and took a single step. A spruce grouse suddenly exploded from a thicket a few dozen yards away, the whir of its wings warning her to stay put. Something had disturbed the bird—something that moved cautiously across the ravine she had traversed earlier. A quick peek between the roots revealed two men on foot and armed with muskets threading their way along the path of broken branches she had made. Soon they would be up to where she knelt.

            The earthy smell of the roots from the overturned pine filled her nostrils. A nerve in her thigh twitched. Grit had gotten inside her mouth and she longed to spit it out … but not now! To run or make any kind of noise would attract their attention.

            Another grouse frightened by the intruders thundered away.

            Muscles tensed, Umey crouched lower and risked notching a new arrow. The two pursuers, more shapes in the gloom than men, halted on the edge of the ravine. One of them chuckled and waved his interlocked fingers in a parody of the grouses’ flight. The other man, gray-bearded, hushed him to silence and pointed at the knot of roots that hid her.

            The raider nearest her, a younger man sporting a single reddish rope of braided hair, loosened his fingers and ambled toward the pine. “You are seeing things, Brother Petrov,” he called to his older comrade. “This is nothing more than a fallen tree.” 

            “Keep your voice down and check behind the roots,” Petrov growled in reply. “We cannot let that spy escape to tell others of what they have seen.”

            The young raider sauntered closer, his musket resting lazily on his shoulder.

             Please go away, Umey silently begged. She glimpsed the cloud of his breath puffing into the cooling night air just beyond the network of barren branches and roots. Another step and he would see her. No more waiting! Launching herself upright, she drew the arrow to her ear. In that instant, the man’s eyes bulged with surprise. He yelped and struggled to raise his musket. The gun’s match flickered. Her bow sang and he fell to his knees, an arrow quivering in his chest.

            Hunched over to make a smaller target, she scurried away. She knew she hit him, but it was a snap shot without time to aim. If she paused, his companion would be on her in a trice.

            Petrov’s musket roared, its ball whizzing past her ear so close she well-nigh felt its kiss of death. Staying low, she veered left to keep a cluster of pines between them. A dozen more steps and she risked a glance over her shoulder—a glance that nearly cost her life. Petrov had retrieved his fallen comrade’s musket and aimed. Its muzzle flamed red and its bark resounded among the trees. The heavy musket ball tore through a pine branch thick enough to partially deflect it. It scored Umey’s side, nicking a rib. Her wild howl of pain echoed. Hand pressed over the wound, she dodged behind trees, leapt over a log, and raced away as fast and hard as possible. Petrov cursed while he thrashed among brush and branches after her.

            She dared not look back again.

(c)Ken Czech

About Ken Czech

Ken Czech is a retired history professor whose passion has turned to writing fiction.

His previous novels include BEYOND THE RIVER OF SHAME (All Things That Matter Press, 2017); LAST DANCE IN KABUL (Fireship Press, 2018); and THE TSAR’S LOCKET (Fireship Press, 2020). As a member of the Historical Novels Society, he has attended HNS conferences and workshops.

Website: https://www.kennethczech.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thehistoricalnovelist/
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/ken-czech

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