QSFer Brian D. Hinson has a new queer historical fantasy out (gay): Skies of Fire and Smoke.
When Germania revolts against the dragons that rule Europe, Lt. Johann Fischer joins the attack on the Citadel in his Fokker. The fierce war begins on that day, but the dragons and their allied Papal States wield an overwhelming power. Johann battles for his life, his secret lover, Emil, and the freedom of his people.
Kendensei, a Scale Guard of the Citadel, is sent to Germania as a spy, where she infiltrates Johann’s family as Gretchen, their live-in maid and cook.
As the inept Pope pressures the Kaiser of Germania to abandon his vainglorious war, Cardinal Lanzo Cellucci seeks the throne of Saint Peter for himself, by whatever means at his disposal.
Skies of Fire and Smoke is an alternate historical fantasy of brutal warfare and savage aerial battles, which criticizes predatory and hypocritical religious power, threading broad emotional arcs of its characters consumed in war and resistance.
“An exciting debut and one of the most original takes on dragons that I’ve read in a long time.” Rebecca Roanhorse, New York TimesBestseller
Warnings: war violence, disfigured character, orgy (not too graphic), burn wounds
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Excerpt
[Johann in the air in his triplane]
There. I stopped breathing for a moment. To my left and below, one had materialized before I could discern its origin. As the university professors had predicted, black in color, stark against the snow-dappled forest. The wingspan larger than mine by a factor of three or so, and rising against the buffeting winds, her serpentine neck curving her twice-horned head which marked her as a female, to peer at the droning aircraft encroaching her domain. I fantasized she had the equivalent feeling of my own nerves. Doubtful, for these creatures have dominated humanity for all time. Only curious, I hoped. My flying contraption may be noisy, but likely not threatening—a flimsy thing of canvas wings and diminutive size in comparison. Perhaps I looked like nothing more than a human riding some newfangled bauble, a trinket for entertaining excursions.
In my prickling anxiety and awe I nearly forgot the next mission phase: photography. With the boxy Goertz camera braced against the edge of the cockpit, propwash doing its best to tumble the camera into the ungentle hands of gravity to shatter on the landscape below, I snapped a photograph. Advancing the film via a switch, I captured one more. A world first: photographs of a dragon in flight by a man in flight. With a satisfied grin I returned the camera to the flight bag as I craned my neck behind for Schneider’s Fokker. His position was perfect, above and to the rear of the beast. My eyes fell back to the curious dragon with fire in her throat. Mission phase three: Coax her away from Schneider, keep her attention. I turned my heading 90 degrees, away from the Feldberg’s peak.
I maintained my descent and added throttle. More noise to draw her scrutiny, more airspeed to coax her to chase. Her head swiveled at my motion, her great wings flapping harder and faster for a closer inspection. By all biologists’ untested theories, the Fokker was swifter in flight. Dragons employed gliding more than the strength of their wings. My engine imparted powered flight. One hundred and fifteen horses spun my propeller, and I throttled them all. I leveled out for the race. Their fiery breath could reach about a hundred yards, so I needed to keep plenty of distance. I was safe for the moment. As she thrashed her wings, my Fokker still stretched the space between us, but by so little, yet enough to feel a sliver of safety.
I breathed easier. Incrementally. The mission, so far, a success. Looking back, I spied Schneider bearing down on her from above, closing with the black dragon. She appeared unaware, intent only on me, as Schneider flew far quieter than I, engine idle in his descent.
I kept glancing back, the distance growing. The beast had tooth-rimmed jaws that could tear my tail off with little effort. I gritted my teeth when gunfire strobed from Schneider’s 7.92-millimeter dual machine guns, streaking like arrow-straight lightning. Ingenious engineering allowed the bullets to slip past the turning prop.
The dragon howled, her roar guttural and deep, rattling my ribcage despite the droning clatter of my engine. Scheiner’s lead had struck! I cheered, fist to the wind. Maroon blood ran in wind-driven rivulets across her scaley back, droplets transforming to a carmen mist. Her head spun to the rear as saliva slipped to the wind from her toothy jaws. Folding wings, she spun and dove so nimbly it mystified—such dancers of the skies, these beasts. Schneider’s blows were not fatal. Damn their iron-like scales! I felt vulnerable in that moment, riding a flyer sheathed in fabric that could be sliced with a sharp knife.
With full right rudder I turned, tilting to the edge of wing stall, tempting the total loss of lift. Maneuvering in a steep turn below stall speed would send me down like a brick unless I managed to regain control and achieve level flight. I had to position the aeroplane to counter the threat to Schneider, quickly, and there was no ignoring the limits of the Fokker.
He attempted an ascent, throttle full, to dodge the coming beast, surely hoping I could maneuver to aid. Before I could even get her bulk close to my sight she had risen, closing on Schneider from below, far faster in rising than he. As I cursed in my pursuit, “Turn and dive, damned fool!” she spewed potassium chlorate and a reactive sucrose from different orifices in the roof of her mouth which combined to produce a yellow flame that swallowed Schneider’s aeroplane. The wood and fabricof the wings and fuselage had no chance against such a burst of fierce, intense fire. I ceased breathing as I watched his Fokker degenerate and splinter into fiery debris trailing thick, dark smoke against the cobalt sky.
Schneider: The first comrade whose death I had witnessed. My heart had no time to mourn, lest I, too, meet the same fate. “Hellborn reptile!” I muttered; a curse lost to the wind.
Still executing my turn, I pulled back on the stick to fire lead as I continued through my curve to retreat. I did not score a hit. I declined to pursue, for if I did without killing her, she would be too close, and as I witnessed, she could spin 180 degrees around the breadth of a shot glass, and my life, forfeit. I knew she stored more fire in her belly since she had only used her weapon but once, and most dragons had the capability of five salvos across a day. I maneuvered south in the direction of the secret Army Air Service base, a dirt strip that spelled safety, protected by cannons in the trees.
The dragon, angry and wounded, spun to give chase. And damn it all, she gained on me in her dive. She had the superior position, above, with gravity in her favor.
Author Bio
Brian D. Hinson abandoned an unfulfilling corporate career in 1999 to take up part-time work and visit 40-some countries in the backpacker fashion. He slowed life even further to settle in rural New Mexico, USA with his wife and three pit bulls to write science fiction. Short story “Disposable Gabriel,” in December 2023 Cast of Wonders, made Nerds of a Feather’s recommendation list for the 2024 Hugo. Two short stories are featured in Amazing Stories’ Best of 2024 and 2025. His debut novel, SKIES OF FIRE AND SMOKE, to be released by Inkd publishing April 24, 2026.
| Author Website | https://www.briandhinson.com/ |
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| Author Bluesky | @travelinbrian.bsky.social |
| Author Facebook | https://www.facebook.com/brian.hinson.571031 |