Age of Swords Read online

  Age of Swords is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Michael J. Sullivan

  Map copyright © 2016 by David Lindroth Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  DEL REY and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Names: Sullivan, Michael J., author.

  Title: Age of swords / Michael J. Sullivan.

  Description: New York : Del Rey, 2017. | Series: Legends of the First Empire ; 2

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017013600| ISBN 9781101965368 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781101965375 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Imaginary wars and battles—Fiction. | Elves—Fiction. | Dwarfs—Fiction. | Magic—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Fantasy / Epic. |

  FICTION / Action & Adventure. | FICTION / Fantasy / Historical. | GSAFD: Fantasy fiction. | Adventure fiction

  Classification: LCC PS3619.U4437 A745 2017 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/​2017013600

  Ebook ISBN 9781101965375

  randomhousebooks.com

  Book design by Christopher M. Zucker, adapted for ebook

  Cover design: David G. Stevenson

  Cover illustration: © Marc Simonetti

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  Map

  Chapter One: The Storm

  Chapter Two: Giant Problems

  Chapter Three: The Circle of Fire

  Chapter Four: Rapnagar

  Chapter Five: Small Solutions

  Chapter Six: The Prince

  Chapter Seven: The Road to Tirre

  Chapter Eight: Ride of the Stone God

  Chapter Nine: Under the Rose Bridge

  Chapter Ten: Something to Believe In

  Chapter Eleven: Under the Wool

  Chapter Twelve: The Council of Tirre

  Chapter Thirteen: Crossing the Bridge

  Chapter Fourteen: The Nightmare

  Chapter Fifteen: Caric

  Chapter Sixteen: Long Gone

  Chapter Seventeen: Gronbach

  Chapter Eighteen: Choosing Swords and Shield

  Chapter Nineteen: Neith

  Chapter Twenty: Betrayal

  Chapter Twenty-one: Losing Face

  Chapter Twenty-two: The Agave

  Chapter Twenty-three: The Gula-Rhunes

  Chapter Twenty-four: Balgargarath

  Chapter Twenty-five: Makareta

  Chapter Twenty-six: The Challenge

  Chapter Twenty-seven: Facing the Demon

  Chapter Twenty-eight: Death by Steps

  Chapter Twenty-nine: Aftermath

  Chapter Thirty: The Nature of Dwarfs

  Chapter Thirty-one: The Keenig

  Chapter Thirty-two: The Plan

  Glossary of Terms and Names

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Michael J. Sullivan

  About the Author

  Author’s Note

  Welcome back to The Legends of the First Empire! I want to start by thanking you for the warm reception extended to the new series. It’s a risky business setting aside a well-established franchise and creating something new, and I’ll admit I was a bit anxious with the release of Age of Myth. I love the new characters and hoped you would, too, but until a book gets into the hands of the readers, I’m never sure how it’ll be received. Well, the book has been out for seven months and the results are in. Age of Myth has garnered more than ten thousand reviews and ratings from Goodreads, Audible, and Amazon. Even better, 90 percent have rated it a 4 or 5 and only 2 percent a 1 or 2. I don’t think I could ask for more than that! So thank you for assuaging my fears about not being able to write anything that didn’t have Royce and Hadrian in it.

  Speaking of characters, one of the things I love most about Age of Swords is shining a light on more of the key players for the series. From its onset, I wanted The Legends of the First Empire to consist of an ensemble cast, but had I fully introduced all the players in the first book, it would have significantly dragged down the pacing. Age of Myth already had a lot to do: introduce two major races (Rhunes and Fhrey), set up the cultural differences between them (primitive and technologically advanced), and tell a self-contained story while starting threads that will weave across the entire narrative—such as what’s up with Malcolm and Nyphron, and who is Trilos and what part does he play.

  In Age of Myth, you’ve briefly met Gifford, Roan, Brin, and Moya, but with Age of Swords, you’ll start to see why I love them so much and what unique aspects they’ll be bringing to the rest of the story. Of course your old favorites will be back, including Persephone, Raithe, Malcolm, Arion, and I couldn’t leave out Suri and Minna. You’ll also have a chance to meet the Dherg, a race that we don’t get to see much of in The Riyria Revelations. Traveling to their homeland will be a major aspect of this story, and I’m pleased to introduce the last of the triumvirate that makes up the major races in the world of Elan.

  There is something else I would like to mention before sending you off to the tale. In the author’s note of Age of Myth, I mentioned that the whole series was written before I submitted the first book, and this was, and is, true. But I fear I may have unintentionally given the wrong impression, and I want to clear things up. What I’m referring to is the difference between written and done, which is a pretty wide chasm. Having all the books written means: I completed the first draft to my satisfaction. But done is something much more. It requires polishing the books after receiving feedback from others I trust, including my alpha reader, my beta readers (generally fifteen to twenty people), my agent and a few others at his agency, my editor, and my publisher. And then the line editors, copy editors, and proofreaders need a chance to further groom the manuscript and turn it into something I couldn’t do on my own. All those finishing touches take time, and that’s a major factor in the release schedule.

  I will say that we are going to try to shorten the time between books for the rest of the series. Yes, there was a one-year gap between the first book and this one, but that was largely because some major rework was required. You see, when Robin (my wife and alpha reader) finished the series, she proclaimed the first three books to be in really good shape, but believed that the end of the series had a number of issues. There were a few plot points she felt were confusing, and some logic that she didn’t agree with; most important, she felt that the ending was rushed. As is usually the case, she was right.

  To address these concerns, I spent over a year working on the ending, and in the process, the series grew from five books to six. You see, I was trying to smoosh (a highly technical literary term) two books together when the story really wanted a natural break at a particular point. While I was off doing that, Age of Swords sat untouched. Until I had the series ending reworked, I didn’t know what changes would be needed in Age of Swords, and as it turned out, some tweaks were necessary. I would have hated to release it and then been unable to make the required adjustments.

  Anyway, I turned the revised book over to Robin in May 2016, and for the rest of the year we gathered additional input, incorporated changes, and line and copyedited the manuscript, which was finally locked down in early February 2017. It’s a fascinating process seeing a manuscript morph into a finished book. If
it’s something you are interested in, Robin is creating The Making of Age of Swords—a free ebook that provides an interesting peek behind the scenes. We did something similar with the third Riyria Chronicle (The Death of Dulgath), and you can receive either of these just by sending an email to: [email protected]. Please make sure the subject of the email includes “Making of…” and the title (or titles) you are interested in, and we’ll send them out to you.

  Okay, last thing, I promise. If you read the acknowledgments of Age of Myth, you might have noticed that I mentioned wanting to hear from people. I’ve had hundreds of letters, most of which apologize for intruding on my time. I always get a chuckle out of that, as if knowing people like my books could ever be an imposition. I’ve enjoyed these letter so much that I thought I would once again extend the invitation. So if you like this book (and even if you don’t), feel free to drop me a line at [email protected]. I’m always interested in hearing what you have to say.

  And that’s the end of my preamble. Now sit back, adjust the volume if you’re listening to an audiobook, or adjust the font and background of the ebook, or run your fingers down the paper and take a deep breath of the ink of your printed copy. It’s time to dive in. Age of Swords is my favorite book of this series, and I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing the tale.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Storm

  Most people believe the first battle of the Great War occurred at Grandford in the early spring, but the first attack actually took place on a summer’s day in Dahl Rhen.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  “Are we safe?” Persephone shouted up at the oak.

  Magda was the oldest tree in the forest, massive and majestic. Standing before her was like staring at an ocean or mountain; each made Persephone feel small. Realizing her three-word question might be too simple, too vague, she added, “Is there more that needs to be done to protect my people from the Fhrey?”

  Persephone waited for an answer.

  Wind blew; the tree shook, and a massive branch fell.

  She jumped when it hit the ground. Falling from such a height, the limb would have killed her if it had landed a few inches closer. Broken branches suspended in the forest canopy were called widow-makers. Since Persephone had already lost her husband, the dead wood lying beside her must have been an overachiever.

  “What’s that about?” Persephone asked Suri.

  The young mystic with the white wolf glanced at the fallen branch and shrugged. “Just the wind, I think. Feels like a storm is coming.”

  Once before, when Persephone had sought the great tree’s counsel, Magda’s advice had saved her people. Now she was back, seeking answers again. Months had passed since her last visit, and life at Dahl Rhen had returned to a comfortable routine. The destruction created by the battle between two Miralyith had been cleaned up, but Persephone knew that hadn’t ended the conflict. Questions remained—questions no human or Fhrey could answer. And yet…

  Persephone looked at the fallen tree limb. It’s not a good sign when Magda starts a conversation by trying to crush me.

  “Something wrong?” Arion asked. The Fhrey was still learning their language and stood beside Suri and Minna watching the proceedings with great interest. She wore the green hat Padera had crocheted for her; its whimsical quality made the Miralyith appear more approachable, less divine, more—human. Arion had come along to witness the oracle in action, although Persephone had expected more talk and less action.

  Suri looked up at the tree. “Don’t know.”

  “What’s Magda saying?” Persephone shouted to Suri over the rising howl of wind.

  That was how it was supposed to work. Persephone posed questions to the tree and the mystic revealed the answer after listening to the rustling of leaves and branches. But Arion was right about something being wrong. Suri had a perplexed look on her face—more than merely puzzled; she looked concerned.

  “Not sure,” the girl replied.

  Persephone clawed a lock of hair away from her mouth. “Why not? Is she talking in riddles or just ignoring you?”

  Suri’s face twisted in frustration. “Oh, she’s talking, all right, but so fast I can’t tell what she’s saying. Just babbling, really. Never seen her like this. She keeps repeating ‘Run…run fast…run far. They’re after you.’ ”

  “They? Who? Is she talking to us? Is that the answer to my questions?”

  Suri shook her head, short hair whipping across the tattoos on her forehead. “Nope. She was yelling before you said anything. I don’t think she heard you. I’m not even sure how Magda knows the word run. I mean, seriously, how does a tree know what that is?”

  “Are you saying the tree is hysterical?”

  Suri nodded. “Scared to death. I know mice who have made more sense. She’s not even using words now, just making noises.” Suri’s brows jumped up, her face tensing, eyes squinting, mouth pulling tight.

  “What?” Persephone asked.

  “It’s never good when a tree screams.”

  Tall grass slapped Persephone’s legs, her dress whipping and snapping. Ripped from their branches, the oak’s leaves flew thick as snow in a blizzard. Under the dense canopy, Persephone couldn’t see the sky, but the wind was stronger than ever. Stepping out, she discovered that what had been clear blue just moments before had turned a tumultuous gray. Dark clouds bubbled one upon another, turning midday into twilight. A strange green light cast everything in an eerie, unnatural hue.

  “What’s happening?” Arion asked.

  “Tree is panicking,” Suri answered.

  “Maybe we should return to the dahl,” Arion said, her head tilted up. “Yes?”

  Minna whined and drew closer to Suri, nearly knocking the girl down. The mystic knelt to comfort her wolf. “Not right, is it, Minna?”

  Looking more serious, Arion gave up speaking Rhunic and returned to her native tongue. “We need to—” She was cut off by a blinding flash and horrific crack.

  Minna yelped and bolted down the slope.

  Persephone staggered. Blinded by the afterimage that left a bright, splotchy band across her vision, she vainly tried to blink it away. Her nostrils filled with wood smoke, and she felt the heat of a blaze.

  Magda is on fire!

  Arion lay on the ground at the base of the tree, both hands raised, shielding herself. The Miralyith shouted a single word—nothing Persephone recognized—but it sounded like a command. The fire engulfing the old oak vanished with a pop. In its place was a terrible hiss and smoke swirling in a malevolent wind. Magda was split down the center, cleaved in two. A horrible blackened gash with bright-red edges flared with each gust of wind. The ancient and wondrous mother of trees had taken a mortal blow from the gods.

  Persephone helped Arion to her feet.

  “We need to run,” the Fhrey told them.

  “What? Why?”

  Arion grabbed her by the wrist and pulled. “Now!”

  Persephone’s scalp tingled as Arion dragged her down the hill and out of the glade toward the thick shadow of the Crescent Forest. Suri and Minna were already ahead of them, sprinting.

  Crack!

  Lightning struck the ground somewhere behind them.

  Crack! Crack!

  Two more bolts rent the air close enough for her to feel their heat. Running together, Persephone and Arion followed Suri and Minna as they plunged headlong into the forest through thickets, brambles, and thorns. Gasping for air, Persephone glanced back. A series of scorch marks smoldered in a direct line between the oak and where they stood.

  Crack!

  They all jumped as the sound exploded directly overhead. Like the old oak, the trees above caught fire. One huge branch fell like a giant torch—another widow-maker wannabe.

  “Need shelter,” Arion said, and pulled again.

  “Rol nearby,” Suri shouted. “This way.” The girl dashed deeper into the wood, Minna bounding at her side.

  Perse
phone might not understand the language of trees, but she understood anguish. The wood shrieked. Branches snapped, trunks groaned, and the forest cried out as the wind stripped away summer gowns of green. Then a new sound rose, a loud, all-encompassing roar from everywhere at once. At first, Persephone thought it might be sheets of rain, but the noise was much too loud, far too violent. Balls of ice tore through leaves and branches. Fist-sized missiles assailed the canopy, ricocheting off limbs and trunks. With arms raised over her head, Persephone screamed as two huge chunks of ice struck her back, glancing blows, but they carried the sting of a switch and the force of a punch.

  Ahead, Suri stopped at the foot of a sheer, rocky cliff and slapped the face of it with her palm. To Persephone’s immense relief, a section of the stone’s face opened, revealing a little room neatly carved out of rock. The mystic leapt inside, followed closely by the wolf. From the doorway, Suri swung her arms in huge circles, waving the other women to safety. The chieftain of Dahl Rhen and the Miralyith crossed the threshold together, crouching to avoid hitting their heads. Once in, Persephone turned to witness the destruction.

  Crack!

  Another bolt of lightning split the air, and for an instant, a dazzling array of translucent shades of green illuminated the leaves, a light brighter than the sun.

  Crack!

  A nearby cottonwood caught fire. Sheared in half, the tree fell in a rain of sparks and flame. The wind fanned the fires started by the strikes, spreading an inferno—ice and fire, wind and debris. Persephone stared, lost somewhere between horror and awe.

  Suri slapped the keystone, and the door closed.