If you enjoyed the first two samples of Revenge of the Overlords (previously titled The Great Council), I have one last sample for you before the book is published!
A short conversation with his servants told Balhalumuut all he needed to know. The gold, blessedly, had similar taste in food to his own. Primarily meat with the occasional fruit, vegetable, or bark for added nutrition and to keep the teeth sharp.
The vision faded from Malyystrazza’s vision and she found her blood boiling with rage once more, just as it had all those years ago. How could her parents have been so stupid?
Revenge of the Overlords samples – Chapters one,two, and three
If you enjoyed the first sample of Revenge of the Overlords (previously titled The Great Council), I have some more for you!
Herein are early versions of the first three chapters. Just bear in mind that there may be factual and/or grammatical errors and the content of this text is likely to change before publication.
But without further ado, I bring you chapters one through three for your reading pleasure.
CHAPTER ONE BALHALUMUUT
“Brother!” Balhalumuut gasped as he jerked awake from the terrible nightmare. His breath came in heavy wheezes, his heart thundered behind his eyes.
For a long while he lay where he was, unmoving, the shock of what he’d seen overwhelming him.
The platinum wyrm could not have said how much time had passed before he moved again. Before his mind began working in a productive manner again. It felt to his befuddled mind as though an age had passed.
But at last, a sliver of coherence entered his mind in the form of an argument against what he’d seen. It had to be only a dream.
He gave a violent shake of his head in an effort to clear it. The dream couldn’t mean anything. The plan was to win all of the great dragons to their side before holding such a Council, so surely such a thing could never came to pass. With all the great dragons present, there wouldn’t be any dragons left with the arcane power to do such a thing, surely.
The nightmare had answered that already.
It answered it with a power he had never heard of, but what did that really mean? Was it possible that such a power could actually exist? How would one go about tapping into the power housed in another wyrm’s a pet without their knowledge?
But Graavvyynaustaiur was dead. He had died to save their sire and protect a garnet female— which, of course, was exactly the sort of foolishness he would expect of his brother —close to a dozen years ago, when he and sire had gone to that community of metallic dragons across the Strait from Balhamuut’s island home.
He had heard the stories of what Chhry’stuulliound, the pyrite leader of the metallics his sire and brother, Ryujin rest his soul, had made contact with a dozen or so years ago. But what he’d seen in the dream was not that power. This had been a single ritual with no fore-planning that stole arcane energy.
It was a far more devastating thing, if it was a real power that actually existed.
He huffed a sigh. Who was he kidding? He lived in a world where the very arcane essence of a wyrm could be stolen and re-appropriated in whatever way one wished. What was unthinkable was the idea that such a power might not actually be possible.
He breathed a deep sigh of frustration. Whether the power was possible was irrelevant. The single, unalterable fact was no matter how much he might wish it otherwise, his brother was dead. He had gone to visit the tomb where he had been perfectly preserved. No power on Earth could revive the dead, every hatchling knew that.
Therefore, his dream had to be just that. A dream. His dreams had never been prophetic before, after all.
But it wasn’t, said a deep, feminine voice in the back of his mind.
He growled his irritation. “Just when I thought the lot of you were gone forever.”
That is only wishful thinking, my son. We are part of you now, and you cannot change that.
He breathed another deep sigh. “At least you’ve figured out who’s in charge.”
She breathed a musical chuckle. Yes, my son. It took some doing, but all those angry souls have finally accepted my rule over them. Only you remain.
He scoffed, though a breath of fear touched his nerves. “Your rule,” he said. “I think you might be a little confused about your situation, Dam.’’
She laughed again, though this time it carried a darker undertone. Is that so? And just what is my situation, my son?
He struggled not to clench his teeth in annoyance. Was he truly standing in his lair arguing with himself? Her soul was now little more than an extension of his own, after all. Was she even real, or was this all just a figment of imagination created by his guilt?
He moved toward the exit. He didn’t have time for this. While most of the unpleasantness his uncle had wrought was now settled, he still had much work to do here.
I’m talking to you, Balhalumuut!
He froze. She’d always been able to stop him in his tracks with that tone. How did she do it?
“What do you want from me, Dam?” he asked stiffly.
He could almost hear her grinding her teeth at him. What I want, she said in a voice tight with forced control and softness, is for you to answer my question.
Balhalumuut sat back on his haunches and breathed a sharp, frustrated sigh. “What question?”
What exactly is my situation?
“How do I know you’re even real? Maybe you’re just a figment of my fevered mind.”
Dauria cackled with glee. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Listen, my son. The battle between the multitude of consciousnesses residing in your soul is very real. I’m certain your uncle never told you, he himself was very good at keeping them quiet— not that it takes very much when they are acquired one at a time. In fact, most wyrms aren’t even aware of them until there are dozens. You see, it takes a lot of us to manifest in any obvious and recognizable way.
Balhalumuut tried to take her words seriously. He tried to make it make sense in his mind. But it seemed so far fetched. If this was true, how could he have had no inkling of it before? Not only had he known dozens of wyrms in the last decade or so who had, at one point or another, used the power almost daily. None of which had ever suggested anything like this. But also, it wasn’t as though stealing his uncle’s multitudinous essence had been his first time.
Knowing how it would affect him, that twisted wyrm had made regular essence feedings a part of his torture during the first year of his captivity. He still hadn’t regained all his memories from that time, but he strongly suspected the continued essence thefts were a major factor— if not the entirety —of the cause of his catatonia.
A catatonia which, conveniently enough, had led to his reunion with his brother and the downfall of their uncle. And Graavvyynaustaiur’s death, he thought with a twinge of melancholy. Perhaps that, too, is my fault.
But for all the times he had performed the ritual during that year, he had never had even the slightest inkling that anything remained of the consciousness of his victims.
He shook his head in frustration. Either the madness of having absorbed so many essences at once was still with him, or it really was Dam talking to him, she was telling the truth, and he’d never been mad.
“Is there anything you can do to prove what you’re saying is true?” he asked.
Hmmm, she rumbled, the sound disconcertingly similar to the purring hum in the back of her throat that she’d used to soothe him to sleep as a wyrmling. Proof. Well, incontrovertible proof is quite hard to come by. I expect you’d want information. Information you couldn’t possibly know. But then, how will you verify that what I’m saying is true?
Balhalumuut couldn’t help feeling as though he was being patronized. Clearly, Dam knew the obvious answer just as he did. Just as they both clearly knew that it was precisely the last thing he wanted to do.
He and Sire had not spoken since shortly after Graavvyynaustaiur’s death. Owing largely to his distinct impression that he’d become an unwelcome reminder of his younger brother.
He sighed. “You know as well as I do where this is going.”
She gave a surprisingly accurate imitation of a sigh. I know, my son. And I’m sorry to be the impetus for an act that will cause pain to either of you. But if that is the only way you will trust me then what must be must be.
Balhalumuut only just stopped himself grinding his teeth. “Okay, we’ll deal with that in a moment. Let us say, for the sake of argument, that I believe you. Why would you say that it wasn’t just a dream?”
He had the oddest sensation. Dauria didn’t make a sound, but he felt her smile at him. The same way your uncle knew where to find you on that beach. The same way he knew your sire and I had found him. The same way he always knew everything before anyone else. All our lives.
“No,” Bal breathed. “It can’t be.”
She smiled again. Your intellect does you credit, my son. I assure that it can be and it is. Even I never guessed it, but all this time your uncle has possessed the gift of prophecy. And now that you’ve absorbed his essence, so do you.
“B-but… how can that be? Prophecy was supposed to have been lost before the Long Sleep even began.”
Dauria gave a mental shrug that he felt rather than saw. I can only surmise that either he delved into secrets long forgotten, at a very young age, or prophecy was not nearly as lost as we thought it was.
Balhalumuut cleared his throat nervously. “Okay, disregarding that question for a moment, how can you be so certain that this dream was in truth a prophecy?”
Again, the sensation of a smile that simultaneously warmed his blood and chilled his bones. Tell me, my son, how often do you remember what you dream of late?
He opened his mouth to reply, then stopped as he thought about it. Did it matter? She had asked, so he supposed it must. But how? What difference would it make?
“Not often,” he said cautiously.
The ones you forget, are they vivid?
“No,” he said slowly. “In those, I always know I’m dreaming. It’s almost like watching events through a haze of murky water.”
An apt description, she said. And the dreams you remember, what are they like?
He shivered and his scaled clicked softly. “If you’re inside my head, don’t you know this already?”
He sighed. “The dreams I remember are extremely vivid. They are more real than the real. I wake up feeling like I’ve lost a sense. Or become colorblind. Or lost all depth perception.”
That strange smile again. And you never thought this odd?
He scoffed. “Of course I did. But it isn’t as though there was anything I could do about it.”
She tsked. Not true, my son. I think you knew you could have had another wyrm Delve you while you slept. You might have used your not inconsiderable arcane strength to explore your dreams. You might have found a wyrm talented in clairvoyance to discuss the matter with. There were a whole host of options, but you chose not to explore any of them.
Balhalumuut flared his wings in irritation, then flapped once before folding them back around him. “I could do no such thing. Managing and restructuring this island has been difficult enough without revealing my own weaknesses. Allowing word of my struggles to go beyond my own mind would only have multiplied my opponents here.
Dauria gave another mental shrug. There was always your sire.
He sighed in exasperation and drew a breath to launch into his tirade, but she cut him off.
Save it, my son. I understand your hesitation to speak with him. I know it is to save you both from pain. Please understand that I say this out of love. You haven’t been doing him or yourself any favors. Avoiding the pain will not make it go away. It only makes it harder to deal with when the day comes that you must face it.
Balhalumuut turned away, momentarily blinded to the reality that turning away from a voice in his head was less than useless. “You don’t understand,” he muttered.
Dauria’s presence in his mind flashed white-hot with rage. Don’t understand! she shrieked. Let me tell you about not understanding, pup! You are not the one who died! You are not the one who lost your fool mind! You are not the one who allowed your sanity and judgment to be clouded by terror, anguish, and fury! You are not the one, dear wyrmling, who let those emotions take root in your heart and fester to the point of driving you beyond all sense and reason! You, my poor, darling hatchling, are not the one…
She stopped, as though choked by emotion. When she continued, her voice was calm, almost subdued. You are not the one who allowed yourself to lose all sense of what was real and what was important until you found yourself insisting that your youngest hatchling, the defenseless one, the dependent one, the less intelligent one, had to die for crimes that only ever existed within your own warped and twisted mind.
Balhalumuut’s jaw hung open in utter shock. His blood ran icy cold at the revelations she had just laid out.
So don’t you tell me, she said, low and threatening, that I don’t understand your pain, Balhalumuut. Or your sire’s. I know pain only too well.
Silence reigned, both within and without the Platinum Lord’s mind. While on some level of consciousness he had known that it must be something similar, to have her lay it all out for him to see was staggering.
Whatever doubts he’d once had about her legitimacy or her identity had been laid to rest. Even if his expectation had been remarkably similar to her admission, he never could have imagined she’d spew it forth with such reckless rage. He never could have guessed she’d acknowledge it so bluntly. Nor that she would use it as an engine to put him so thoroughly in his place.
A long time seemed to pass while Balhalumuut stood in his lair in utter silence, his mind as still and quiet as his body.
Had sunlight reached this place, he might have been able to make a guess as to how long he stood there. But as it was, his only gauge for time lay in that obviously none of his advisors or underlings had come to call on him.
Which could mean something, or nothing at all. Some days no one came to him, other days there were dozens. In more than a decade he had found no rhyme or reason to it, though the heavy traffic periods did seem to come in waves.
“Alright, Dam,” he said, breaking the silence.” You said it wasn’t a dream, but a prophecy. That means either my brother is alive or someone is going to do a remarkable job of looking like him. But me being the one responsible for sire’s death… that has to he metaphorical, or something. Right? There’s no possible scenario in which I would ever kill sire. And speaking of which, what in Infernalis was that ability? How did that dragon siphon power from so many so quickly with no preparation?”
Many questions, my son, she said stiffly. And too few answers. Unlike those given by humans, demons, or even angels, dragon prophecies are typically literal. It is extremely uncommon to find metaphor or symbolism in them. I cannot speak to the how or why or even when, but it seems likely at this juncture that your position concerning your sire may not be as firm as you’d like to believe.
Balhalumuut clenched his jaw in frustration, but kept silent. His protestations wouldn’t change anything.
As to the power, do you truly have no guesses? Although more advanced, more complex, and certainly requiring far greater power, it isn’t all that dissimilar from one you have at least heard about in years past.
Balhalumuut narrowed his eyes. “I considered that, but discarded the idea. This can’t be an evolution of the very power Chhry’stuulliound was using, could it?”
The very same, she said matter-of-factly. Based on a somewhat different mechanic, obviously. But the idea seems the same. I analyzed your memory of the dream and how the power worked, how it was activated, how it was powered, how it was targeted. It isn’t the same power. What the pyrite did was a time-consuming ritual that required, on at least some level, the victim’s consent. I had the distinct impression that the you in your dream was operating under no such restrictions. He latched onto every dragon present, including your sire, regardless of distance, and few even seemed aware of it, much less able to resist the effect.
“Which means?” he asked, unable to mask his confusion.
Dauria chuckled darkly. It means that we’re dealing with someone vastly more dangerous than Chhry’stuulliound.
He nodded. “Obviously.”
It means, my son, that we face someone who understands the principle behind the pyrite’s power but has the knowledge, skill, and raw power to a adapt it, to mould it to his purposes, and put it to use on a massive scale.
“In short,” Bal said nervously, “someone like Sire.”
For The first time in his life, he seemed to have left his dam speechless. She didn’t splutter. She didn’t sigh. She was utterly silent and he couldn’t tell if she was impressed, apalled, or something else entirely.
While he waited for whatever she was going to say next, he considered his options. They were few, and left him not at all optimistic.
Naturally, he could do nothing. He could continue working to improve his own domain and let the rest of the world take care of itself.
Oh, who was he kidding. He couldn’t do that any more than he could stop blaming himself for Gravv’s death.
Which left him with… abandon his domain to join his sire on the path to peace, or do what he could from here.
Abandoning all the wyrms who had come to depend on him was no more within his capability than abandoning the world to its fate, which left him with only one viable option. He would help how he could from here.
And the best way he could think of to do that was…
The thing he had become most adept at over the years since he had taken over Lordship of his uncle’s domain: Research and analysis.
Until such time as he had more information to go on, it seemed the best way he had to help against what was coming would be to go down to his new laboratory; the chambers that had once been dedicated to the physical torture of imprisoned dragons, and put his keen mind to the task of deciphering this terrible new power. Perhaps he could even find a defense against it.
I approve, Dauria said at last.
CHAPTER TWO MALYYSTRAZZA
Malyystrazza breathed a deep, gusty sigh as she looked around the chamber. It was probably the largest underground chamber she had ever seen. Even the expanded meeting hall Graayyyavalll had formed after the death of… Chhry’stuulliound, she thought, forcing herself not to think of who else had been lost that day. But even that chamber seemed small compared to this one.
She blinked back the crimson moisture touching her eyes. Even had it not been a dozen years ago, it should not be affecting her so. Savior or not, she’d hardly known the wyrm.
She cleared her throat loudly and let her gaze fall on each of the dozens of dragons present. Stone dragons all, of every color in the rainbow and then some, they graced her with expressions ranging from mild curiosity to vague annoyance to downright hostility. It was made clear at the start that she was not welcome here, and the message she represented even less so.
But she had to try.
Though not the most powerful of wyrms, this was a large and disparate group of stone dragons. They came together over the last decade or two for mutual defense against the immense beasts calling themselves Overlords. Those immense wyrms who would destroy any dragon they encountered for no greater purpose than the theft of its arcane essence.
These were exactly the sort of dragons the Council should have appealed to, and she struggled to understand why they were so opposed to it.
“Charondronay,” she said, turning to face the thickly muscled agate to her left. Despite his youth, he seemed to be the official voice of the group. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your reticence. This accord would guarantee protection to wyrms like yourselves from the predators who pray on those of us who have chosen not to partake of the souls of others.”
The midnight-scaled dragon blinked, the scales of his thick neck clicking together in apparent agitation. “We appreciate what you and yours seem to be attempting,” he said in his unnaturally deep voice. “But we do not believe you will be successful. We see no chance of the monstrous ones, those you term Overlords, capitulating to your demands. As such, we feel we would be safer on our own, in the shadows, beyond the sight of those who would do us harm.”
Malyystrazza opened her mouth to reply automatically, but stopped herself. Clearly, these wyrms put a great deal of thought into their decision and her habit of shooting off with the first thing that entered her mind was unlikely to serve her well with them.
She closed her mouth and delved deep for an argument that might have even the least impact on them.
She gave a slow nod to the agate. “I applaud your efforts to keep your flight from harm. A question though, if I may. Although you have a sizable group here, none of you appear old enough to remember the dark years immediately after the power was discovered. Not one of you, nor, indeed, even all of you in concert, could repel an Overlord should one of them discover you.’’
The agate glowered, his gold-within-citrine eyes darkening.
“Moreover, how, pray tell, do you intend to keep your existence secret from these magically superior Overlords when the total sum of Dragonkind is reduced to the hundreds? Or the dozens? What will you do when nearly all the arcane strength of our kind resides in a claw-full of individuals? How do you propose to continue hiding from that much arcane strength?”
The agate’s lower jaw slipped open, exposing his glistening white teeth and deep red tongue. The scales on his face lost some of their luster and ceased glittering in the light.
A glance around the huge chamber revealed similar reactions from many of the wyrms. She resisted the urge to flash a toothy smile or fan her wings. Gloating would not help her cause. Now was the time to thrust her point to their hearts and offer an alternative.
“Understand that I’m not exaggerating when I say the reckless greed of these Overlords knows no bounds. If we do not stop the essence thefts then the world I described will come to pass.’’
If anything, the expressions of shock grew even more incredulous. Waves of muttering erupted in pockets throughout the chamber. The sharp, acrid scents of sulfur, ozone, and other less pleasant things came to her.
“However,” she called emphatically, and waited. Her gaze roved about the chamber once more, touching the eyes of each wyrm. She waited for silence to overtake the chamber.
“Lord Graayyyavalll and I have a plan. One that we are confident will bring most, if not all, of the greater wyrms around to our plans. We believe they will agree to our accord once we lay all the scales in front of them.’’
Char’s jaw closed with an audible snap. His eyes blazed with intensity. “I see what you are doing,” he growled, voice soft with menace. “You will not fool us with your terror tactics. You’ll not trick us with your false hope. We are not the foolish younglings you take us for. It is time for you to leave. Please give our regards to your lord Graayyyavalll with a message: do not come here again. You will not find peaceful reception a second time.”
Malyystrazza’s jaw hung open in shock. How could he think she was trying to trick him?
The agate rose from his haunches and flared his wings. “I’ve heard enough,” he growled as he moved toward the exit from the chamber.
He didn’t even slow his steps.
Huffing a frustrated sigh, Malyys rose and chased after the agate. She couldn’t let it end like this. She had to make him understand. Perhaps she would not be able to secure this group’s support for the Great Council. She could accept that. But she had to at least convince the agate of her sincerity. She had to show him that even if they declined, they would still have the protection of the Council. They would always be welcome.
Behind her, as she raced after the agate, the mutterings of the other wyrms grew to a fever pitch. She forced the voices from her mind and increased her pace as she turned the corner at the entrance to the chamber.
Ahead, the tip of a glossy black tail disappeared around the next corner. Was the agate running?
With a shake of her head, she darted after the vanishing tail as swiftly as she could. She couldn’t afford to lose him in these labyrinthine tunnels.
The stone walls were a whorling mix of dark brown and dull gray, the surfaces rough and jagged. She couldn’t imagine a natural cave system forming such wide, uniform tunnels, all of which had enough girth to allow for the passage of adult dragons. To say nothing if the immense chambers throughout, a few of which were large enough to house dozens of ancient wyrms.
But then, if these caves were not natural then that made an entirely different statement about the nature of the dragon who built them.
Who that might have been, however, she had not a guess. With all the dragons who had died in the varied conflicts since the awakening, it was entirely possible— likely, even —that the wyrm who constructed these caves was no longer part of the living world.
Turning the next corner, Malyys saw the latter half of the glossy black tail turning yet another corner. Where was he going? She couldn’t fight back the feeling that he was intentionally leading her on a wild drake chase.
“Charondronay!” she called.
Again, if he heard, and she couldn’t see how he wouldn’t, he gave no sign of it.
Huffing a sigh, she further increased her pace and continued after the agate.
The pattern continued through three more turnings, each one moving her that much closer to catching up to the young dragon.
Again, she wondered what he was doing. Surely, if he meant to escape her he could have. Between his initial lead and his shorter, more muscular body, he shouldn’t have struggled to lose her entirely.
Which left… what, exactly?
A part of her wanted to think that he meant her to catch up to him. But why would he want that? If he wanted to speak further, why wouldn’t he have done it in front of the group? Or, barring that, just outside the meeting chamber?
Only two possibilities immediately occurred to her, each as unlikely as the other. Either he wanted to speak of something he didn’t wish for the others of his group to hear, or he was leading her into a trap.
What could possibly motivate him? What would he have to gain?
After the eighth such turning, all of which seemed completely random and had the effect of turning her around so completely she no longer had any idea which direction would lead her to the exit, she turned the corner to find Char’s full form in her view. The golden eye in her view gleamed in the instant before his head vanished around another corner.
She might have been mistaken, but for a moment she thought for certain he had winked at her in that last moment.
What in Infernalis would that even mean? Why would the hulking agate wink at her?
Frustration, confusion, and anger warred for dominance of her emotions. She couldn’t escape the thought that either he was toying with her or he was leading her into a trap.
Yet she still struggled to wrap her mind around just what sort of trap that might be.
She raced through the tunnel, determined to catch the agate before he turned another corner. She meant to catch up to him on her own terms rather than his. She needed to pre-empt whatever designs he was entertaining.
Coming upon the corner, she twisted without slowing and her claws skidded across the rough stone floor for nearly a wingspan. She only narrowly avoided striking the wall of the tunnel.
And she froze, as she came almost nose-to-nose with a grinning Charondronay. She skidded across the stone again, sliding to little more than a claw-width from the midnight-black snout.
The agate dragon’s grin widened, his pearlescent, razor-sharp teeth shining in the sourceless arcane light that lit the entirety of the cave system.
In shock, she stared. What in the name of the gods was he grinning about?
He blinked his golden eyes, and a hurricane of arcane power surged forth from his Apex to permeate the small chamber. She was too shocked to initiate any sort of defense.
Which ended up just as well. It was a power meant for the chamber, after all. Not directed at her at all.
Forcing the shock and questions to the back of her mind, she analyzed the power pervading the room and couldn’t decide if she should be pleased or terrified.
It was a magical defense that prevented scrying— clairaudience, clairvoyance, even telepathy —in or out.
“I’m so pleased you could join me, Mistress Malyystrazza.”
CHAPTER THREE GRAAYYYAVALLL
Graayyyavalll struggled not to grimace as he looked around the immense meeting hall.
Why was he still here?
Everywhere he looked was another testament to his failure to keep his son safe. The hall, the dragons, the cliffs and trees outside… and especially the monument out there. Most days, it seemed the only purpose they served was reminding him of the son he’d lost. That he’d lost on account of his own pride and ego.
“Why do I remain here,” he said aloud for probably the thousandth time since Graavvyynaustaiur’s death.
“Where would you go?” asked a soft voice, low and sultry. He scoffed, struggling to keep the disappointment from his face. For the tiniest fraction of an instant, he’d thought it was the voice of his beloved. His dear, sweet Dauria.
“Anywhere but here,’’ he muttered.
The silver wyrm’s face fell, her disappointment clear. “I understand your Pain, my lord, but surely being here isn’t so bad, is it? Surely you find some small measure of comfort or pleasantness here?’’
Graayyy sighed. Anndovvoora had been dancing around this for years and he wearied of it. He had no wish to hurt her, but neither could he offer her what she sought.
In the centuries prior to the change that took place in the Antarctic, he had never thought to experience love. Oh, he’d loved, to be sure. In truth, the object of his affections had never changed. It was only the change in him that allowed Dauria to return his affections. The change that took place in the south had only enhanced what he felt for her. But now that he had known her affections, his heart would forever dwell with Kwallindauria. It was no longer his to give to anyone else.
“Anndovvoora, you must understand that comfort and pleasure have little meaning in our lives right now. We’re facing the single greatest threat to the Earth and our species that has ever existed. This is my focus, ensuring our survival. I’ve no time for more than that.
She whipped her tail and bared her teeth. “What was that old human adage about all work and no play?’’ Despite her agitation, her sapphire-within-tourmaline eyes glittered with mischief.
He had no doubt of just what sort of play she had in mind. It was not that he wasn’t interested, exactly. He had found such diversions enjoyable in the past. It was merely that bereft of the type of emotional bond he had with Dauria he saw little point in the coupling unless it was for the express purpose of producing offspring.
Which was, of course, impossible between a garnet and a silver. Such cross-breed couplings were only successful when one of the participants was a platinum.
“Of course you would recall that silly adage,” he said, not unkindly. “Your kind were always closer to the humans than any other, were they not?”
She breathed a dramatic sigh of frustration. “You know it is so, my lord. It must have been some cruel jest of the gods that many of my brethren find stronger connections with humans than with our own kind. To say nothing of other dragon breeds.”
Graayyy offered the silver a gentle smile. “I used to be convinced that Noble Ryujin did nothing out of spite or cruelty. Alas, I am no longer so certain of that. I do still believe, however, that the actions of the gods are never frivolous. Even if we can’t understand the motivations, there is always a reason one the three considers important.”
“No matter who they hurt in the process,’’ Voora said, her voice almost cracking with emotion.
Fighting back his own crimson tears at the reminder, Graayyyavalll nodded. “I continually remind myself that we mustn’t judge them too harshly. After all, do we not do similar things to the life forms that dwell beneath us.’’
She scoffed. “Not at all the same thing.”
He shrugged his wings. “I imagine they see things a bit differently than we do.”
Though she huffed a sigh, she seemed to concede the point. “So, what will you do?”
He resisted the urge to chuckle. He knew what she was really asking, and mirth was not a response she would appreciate. “This place has been the center of the movement for a long time. Too long, I think, for my leaving and forcing our prospective allies to find me elsewhere to be feasible. I have to stay here for as long as it takes to make the dream into reality. I will suffer through it for as long as I must. That is as it must be.”
she nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
“How goes the construction project in the west?’’ he asked, desperate for a change in subject.
Her lid curled in apparent disdain. “Slowly. Don’t you think you’re being just a bit over-ambitious—”
“Not at all,” he said, cutting her off. “You must remember that the plan is for that chamber to house every living dragon on Earth, even those who have used the essence of others to grow to truly monstrous size. The space needed for that must utterly dwarf even our most optimistic views of what defines an immense space.”
“A chamber, he calls it,” she said as she turned away from him, “A whole underground ecosystem would be more accurate.’’
Graayyy smiled. “You are not wrong. How many do we have working to complete it?’’
She gave a stiff shrug, still looking away. “A dozen, give or take. Some obviously more skilled than others.”
He nodded. “What’s your estimate on completion?”
She barked a bitter laugh. “Honestly? As it is at present, an optimistic guess is probably a century.”
Frowning, he nodded. Though not unexpected, the answer was disappointing. “Although I admit it certainly could take that long, present progress considered, I would rather we weren’t working on such a long timetable. Apart from more claws to share in the work, is there anything I can do to speed things along?”
She sighed. “Unless you can give them more hours in the day, I don’t think so. What we need are more wyrms working on it. Not young dragons, but wyrms.’’
He’d been certain that would be her answer, but it was worth asking. She knew as well as he that bringing more dragons onto the project increased their risk, which was something he was loath to do. The risk of such a massive undertaking was already considerable. Few dragons knew of his plan to put every dragon on Earth in a cavern together for a Great Council to decide all their futures. And the reality was the fewer who knew ahead of time the better. Tensions would run high enough at the Council itself. Knowing about it ahead of time would be too much for most to deal with.
Of course, he hadn’t told any of them the true reason for the enclosed space. He hadn’t even trusted Dauria or their sons with that information. It was anathema to everything Dauria stood for, but it was an essential part of his plan. He had to force them all into placing themselves under Heart-Bond to follow every law they were laying down. Future generations would not be required to do so, as they would grow up respecting the laws, but the unbreakable bond was the only way to ensure those who had lived through the Great War, the Purge, and the Age of Extinction would obey the laws he meant to lay down. The more devious of the dragons could justify almost anything when they wanted something badly enough.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “I’m expecting an influx of new dragons soon, and with luck there will be some that we can trust to take part in the work. Particularly if Malyys proves successful with that group of reclusive stones.”
The Silver nodded, though he thought he caught the slightest hint of a sneer on her lips.
“I know it is difficult, Voora, but do try to recall that I am, in fact, a stone dragon. Not all of us are the bloodthirsty beasts you grew up believing us to be. Also remember the actions of the pyrite who once led your group.”
She lowered her eyes and gave a chagrined smile. “I know, my Lord. I know, intellectually, that if there are differences between us they are much more slight than most would like to believe. I know that metallics are every bit as capable of evil as the stones are. But… I don’t know, I just can’t help the general unease I feel whenever I’m faced with having to meet a new stone dragon.”
Graayyyavalll nodded. “It’s a visceral response not at all dissimilar to that Malyystrazza feels at the prospect of having dealings with your kind.” That seemed to pull her up short. She’d known that before, of course. This was not the first time they’d had this discussion. But on the heels of discussing her own feelings, it seemed to put things into perspective for her.
Voora took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I do not blame her for her feelings toward we metallics. After what Chrys did to her, and the way her family was terrorized by metallics in general, the only thing that’s surprising is that she has the control to not explode into violence any time she sees one of us.”
Graayyy chuckled. “Trust me, that is not by her choice. I made it clear to her that in order to remain under my influence, polite cordiality was the minimum acceptable response.’’
She nodded, but kept silent.
Graayyy smiled. “I note you have yet to ask how things are progressing with the Overlords.”
She looked up, her expression a mix of surprise, annoyance, and distrust. “I’d just assume not talk about them.”
Frowning, he breathed a deep sigh. “More unresolved prejudices?”
“Prejudices?” she asked, wide-eyed. “Tell me that is meant as a poor jest!”
Graayyy closed his eyes, lamenting his choice of words. “That was a poor way to phrase it—”
“I don’t care how you phrase it,” she cut him off. “What would make you think I would ever care how things go with them? Those foul creatures should not be allowed to live! Much less benefit from this peace you intend to create. This is not me making judgments based on erroneous assumptions from my youth. This is because the so-called Overlords are monsters who care not a whit for Dragonkind. They’ll do anything and everything they can to further their own ends. Not one of them would hesitate to torture or kill any one of us for whatever fancy strikes them on any given day. You know it’s true, don’t try to deny it.”
Graayyyavalll pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the air whistling between his teeth. “I’m sorry, Anndovvoora. I understand how you, and many others, feel about them. And I don’t blame you in the slightest. Unfortunately, you must understand that the peace must include them. Please try to see the whole picture here—”
“Why?” he repeated dumbly.
“Why should I look at the whole picture?” she asked with a stomp of her foreleg.
Graayyy sighed. “The peace is not to protect innocent dragons from other innocent dragons. It’s not to eliminate petty conflicts. It’s not to stop the infighting. By Infernalis, it isn’t even to protect you from the dragons who’ve stolen half a dozen essences. No, this peace is to protect you from the monsters. The predators. The Overlords. The plain and simple fact is the peace cannot protect you from the Overlords if those immense wyrms are not part of it. To keep you safe, it has to also protect the very monsters it defends you from.”
“But why! “she wailed tearfully as the turned away from him, then jerked back around to face him with blue fire in her eyes. “Why can’t we just destroy these Overlords and make peace with the rest?”
Graayyyavalll’s expression softened and crimson tears clouded his eyes. “Is it not obvious?”
She stared at him, eyes wide and confused.
“Because we cannot.”
She snarled. “Of course we can! It would be…” she trailed off, and from her expression of shocked disbelief he saw she finally understood.
She shook her head vigorously.
“Yes,” he said as he continued to nod.
“No,” she said in a breathy whisper. “It can’t be.”
“It can, I assure you. And it is.”
The desperation in her voice broke his heart. He hated having to dash her hopes like this.
“Quite simply,” he said with all the paternal gentleness he could muster. “I’m afraid it’s a matter of simple math. You see, each of those who has stolen enough strength to be termed an Overlord has taken the arcane essence from hundreds, if not thousands of dragons. Each has the arcane strength to rival at least one-hundred ordinary Great Wyrms, and at least triple the physical size and strength. Against just one of them, it would take hundreds of us to overcome. If even two were to unite, all the rest of us together would not be able to overcome them.”
“Not even you?” she whispered in shock.
“I can only speculate, as I have not been tested against a true Overlord. But I suspect not. While it is true that I have been gifted with strength far beyond that of an ordinary wyrm, I do not believe it would be sufficient. Against even Balhamuut, with the assistance of my mate, we would not have prevailed if not for… unexpected developments.”
It was to her credit that she did not ask for specifics.
Her wide eyes were all the evidence he needed that she either hadn’t understood the extent of the Overlords’ power or had never considered what it might mean in the larger scheme of things.
“How can they be so powerful?” she breathed.
He shook his head. “In truth, Voora, we should count ourselves lucky they aren’t vastly more so. These wyrms have absorbed the essence of so many dragons that, if one gained the total sum of his victim’s Apex then they would have power far beyond that of the gods themselves.” He made the symbol of Ryujin before his snout with his claws and murmured, “No disrespect intended, Lord.”
He cleared his throat. “Again, we must count ourselves grateful for whatever quirk of that power causes it to provide smaller and smaller portions of a victim’s power to its practitioners each time they use it.”
The silver gave a vague nod, her jaw slack.
Graayyy felt certain she was in a state of shock.
After a few moments, she shook her head and the glaze over her eyes dissipated. She looked into his eyes, her own icy-blue orbs shining. Her voice came out as a rusty rasp. “Whatever it takes, Lord. I will do whatever is needed to keep our people safe. If that means allying with the Overlords then so be it. I will do what needs be done.”
The sudden shift left him momentarily speechless. He hoped it was the truth. “Good. We have much to do.’’
Thanks for reading, I hope you’re enjoying the excerpts. And do keep in mind that if you haven’t done so yet, you can pre-order the full book on Amazon at books2read.com/revenge-overlords
Revenge of the Overlords samples – Prologue
If you’ve been chomping at the bit for a taste of Revenge of the Overlords (previously titled The Great Council), I have just the thing for you.
Herein is an early version of the prologue. Just bear in mind that there may be factual and/or grammatical errors and the content of this text is likely to change before publication.
But without further ado, I bring you the prologue for your reading pleasure.
What a farce, the wyrm thought as he watched the endless procession of dragons of every size, color, shape, and description pass into the underground chamber.
To call the chamber immense would have been tantamount to calling the towering peak the humans had known as Everest a gentle hill. The size of the chamber defied all description. The wyrm couldn’t begin To guess how it had been shaped or, indeed, how it had the structural integrity to resist collapse.
The dark brown walls of the cavern were smooth and glossy, and pockmarked with an incredible array of alcoves of various sizes. They accommodated a staggering array of dragons, from the floor up to the high domed ceiling, which rose at least two-hundred wingspans above the floor.
Rising from the center of the cavern was the most blatant display of ostentation the wyrm had ever seen. A massive, gem-encrusted dais of what appeared to be solid platinum rose at least three wingspans from the cavern floor. The platform stretched out in a rectangular shape that was at least two leagues on its long side and almost half that on its narrow side.
The wyrm couldn’t help wondering just where in the name of Infernalis they had found so much platinum.
But then, he thought, if the rumors about the son are true, then perhaps they didn’t need to find it.
The desire to sneer was almost overpowering. He indulged in a mental sneer as he fought to keep his expression blank. With the sheer number of dragons milling about, it was unlikely any would notice such an expression on his face. His current form was among the most unassuming he could imagine, after all. And by design, of course. The last thing he wanted was to draw undue attention.
His form was of middling length and average musculature. His neck and tail were of average length. His silvery scales were glossy, but fell short of the mirror finish typically not attained until after a Silver’s second millennium of life. His teeth and claws had a slight grayish cast, indicative of older maturity but falling short of anything definitive. His eyes he had crafted to appear as though cast from aquamarine with a sliver of jade for the vertically slit pupils.
Forcing the tension from his body, he sat back in his shallow alcove at the ground level and tried to ignore the barrage of dragons who walked or flew past him on their way to their own places.
Not that any of them know where they belong any better than I, he thought with a mental chuckle.
Well, perhaps that was unfair. He knew precisely where the self-styled Speaker of the Council wanted him to be, after all. Or where the garnet fool wanted his natural form to be, at least. Not that he had any intention of ever doing what Graayyyavalll wanted him to do. Ever again. The arrogant fool had lost that privilege decades ago.
And before the day was out, the old fool would realize his mistake.
By the Lady of Chaos, he thought, I will make you rue the day you chose to do this.
Forcing himself to relax, the wyrm allowed his mind to wander into imaginings of the future— a future he would control —as the endless stream of dragons passed him by, most without so much as a glance his way.
Hours passed before the constant stream of Dragonkind so much as slowed, and at least another hour passed while the last of the stragglers filed in. Looking about, he could hardly believe the number of dragons present. Everywhere he looked, light glinted off scales of every color he had ever imagined. It was like looking into a box filled with chips of gems, jewels, and stone, and slivers of metal. Every substance he could imagine had at least one representative. “I hadn’t thought this many wyrms still lived in the whole of the word,” he said in awe, unable to fully banish the hunger from his voice.
He hoped none of those near him noticed.
“Where did they all come from? Where have they been hiding?”
The wyrm huffed a sigh. If he’d known about all these dragons he might not have needed to ingratiate himself to the pompous garnet. Here was all the arcane strength he ever could have asked for.
Gradually, the mutterings that formed a continuous roar throughout the immense cavern began to taper off and quiet. Judging by the content of the conversations flowing around him, the wyrm figured the dragons were growing restless as they waited for the arrival of their host.
He couldn’t help a touch of surprise that all those around him knew the identity of the great garnet. with how few of the negotiations the arrogant creature had conducted himself, the wyrm had expected most of the attendees would have no idea who he really was.
It seems that even now, he has the ability to surprise me.
But it mattered not. It would change nothing. For long minutes, the dull roar tapered further until it was little more than a buzzing murmur. The wyrm kept his eyes riveted on the platinum dais. He didn’t know what Graayyyavalll had in mind, but felt certain the ancient garnet’s arrival would be something meant to shock and impress all those in attendance.
Without warning, a booming sound like a clap of thunder reverberated around the chamber. A cloud of crimson smoke flashed into existence on the platinum dais and a collective gasp sounded around the cavern as the great garnet appeared amid the smoke, seemingly from nowhere!
How did he do that! the silver wyrm screamed inside his head, echoing hundreds, if not thousands, of spoken questions throughout the cavern.
All dragons knew that arcane travel was impossible. No power, no ability, no ritual, no talisman existed, or ever had, that could move a physical body from one location to another in anything other than the traditional manner.
As far as the wyrm knew, it wasn’t a matter of power. Surely, if one needed only acquire suitable power then one of these Overlords could have managed it by now. No, it had to be some immutable law of the natural universe. Not even a single coin, or, indeed, even a single hair, could be transported in such a way.
The best outcome for those who had tried had always been failure. The worst result, however, didn’t bear thinking about.
The silver wyrm had seen such a result once. It was more than sufficient to ensure he never attempted such foolishness himself.
All of which did not move him one iota closer to an explanation of what the garnet had done or, more importantly, how he’d done it.
Silence reigned Supreme as the crimson smoke dissipated to reveal the immense form of Graayyyavalll in all his shimmering garnet glory. With the natural shine of his deep red scales, one might almost have mistaken him for a ruby dragon rather than garnet.
Impossibly, the garnet Speaker of the Council took up more than half the dais! When had he grown so large? The silver wyrm had known the pompous creature was immense, but this was another matter entirely. It hadn’t been that long since he’d been in the garnet’s presence. surely he couldn’t—
The wyrm froze. No, he Thought. It isn’t Possible, is it? One of his key objectives is to abolish the thefts. He couldn’t be such a hypocrite, could he?
Any further speculation on the matter was cut off as the garnet turned in a full circle, presumably to meet the gazes of as many of the attendees as he could, and he started to speak in his deep, resonant voice.
Impossibly, the booming words easily reached every far alcove of the cavern without ever being loud enough to damage any dragon’s receptors.
“Thank you all for agreeing to be part of this Council, an event unlike any seen since the days preceding The long sleep.” He paused to glance around. Almost as though he were expecting applause.
Never mind the meeting just prior to the Great War, the wyrm thought snidely.
“But rest assured, wyrms. I will not be asking you to do anything of that sort. Please accept my most heartfelt thanks for being willing to set aside your differences and take this chance at building a lasting peace for all Dragonkind.’’
This time there were scattered cheers from a few different parts of the chamber. The silver wyrm struggled not to sneer at the fools. He would have wagered half his soul those cheering were among the young and all-but-helpless dragons of the new generation. He couldn’t understand how even dragons that young could be foolish enough to think this inanity had any chance of working.
“But enough pleasantries. I’m not nearly arrogant enough to think you came to hear the sound of my voice,” he said with a chuckle.
The wyrm scoffed, certain that was, in fact, exactly what the over-sized garnet wyrm thought.
“So without further ado, allow me to make you a promise.” The garnet stood up on his hind legs and turned in a slow circle. As he did so, the air throughout the cavern seemed to crackle with arcane energy.
The silver wyrm shifted his vision to Arcane Sight and his breath caught in his throat.
No glow permeated the cavern, nothing shone in the air. A few arrays of colored light flashed from a few wyrms throughout the chamber, many of which were likely Arcane Sight, the same as he, but otherwise the only power anywhere in the chamber came from the pulsing glare of silvery light within Graayyyavalll himself.
The garnet was a veritable beacon of arcane energy.
The silvery light at the garnet’s core flashed in a brilliant pulse that lit every dark corner in the chamber. The flash dimmed for a moment, then flashed again, even brighter this time.
Then a third pulse of light, this one so bright it hurt the silver wyrm’s eyes. But this one did not recede, it was sustained as though Ryujin’s Blaze had erupted from the garnet dragon’s core.
After several moments, the wyrm was forced to cancel his Arcane Sight lest the brightness permanently damage his eyes.
“I give you my oath… no, an oath is not strong enough.’’ The garnet turned in another slow circle, offering significant looks all the way around. “Wyrms of every breed from every land. Right here, today, before you all, I offer you all my solemn Heart-Bond—”
A collective gasp resounded throughout the chamber, from the silver wyrm as much as any other. He knew the unbreakable power of a Heart-Bond as well as any. On the rare occasions it was done, a dragon had to be extremely careful of their word choices when they offering such a vow. Sometimes the power that governed them did not interpret a dragon’s words in quite the way they were intended.
But it mattered not. There was no going back. Once the vow was spoken it became binding. It was irrevocable and unchangeable.
“Until the end of my life, I will remain dedicated to peace and equality among us. I will never stop fighting for it. I am committed to change. To turning the Earth into a living paradise where all dragons live in race and harmony, without fear of destruction purely to feed another’s power.’’
With the completion of the Speaker’s words, a deep warmth suffused the chamber as the power took hold and transformed them all into a Bond. A Bond that would kill the garnet if ever he tried To renege on it.
And now it makes sense, the silver wyrm thought. Except that it didn’t.
Oh, it explained the burst of power sure enough. That was so. But what in the name of Infernalis was the garnet doing? There were so many loopholes and gray areas in that oath, there was no telling just how the power would force him to hold to it!
He shook his head, no longer at all certain he knew what was happening here.
Wait, he thought as a new idea occurred to him. Is it possible those loop holes and gray areas are exactly what he’s counting on? It still seems like a foolish gambit, but it could pay off if it works out the way he wants.
Or, rather, it could have if the garnet was going to live to see this day’s end.
The silver tensed. It was time. He had to have the time to get into position and make this happen while there were plenty of witnesses here.
He stopped listening to the garnet’s words and delved into his Apex to draw forth the power he needed. He began the process of weaving together two separate and quite different patterns of power at once.
The Speaker of the Council droned on, occasionally interrupted by another dragon. At a few points, arguments erupted among those in attendance. At other times the immense wyrm was interrupted by cheering.
Finally, the silver completed his weave. The world seemed to expand around him, growing to immense proportions. It was a neat trick he had learned by listening to Balhamuut describe the method his sire had used to rescue him— what a joke! —From the agate dread, Vordillainsura.
Where he had been, a perfect replica of his silver form sat in the alcove, evincing the expected reactions to whatever words reached its receptors. In his tiny new form, he stood on the silver body’s claw. It felt real enough. He hoped it would be sufficient to fool any dragon who happened to look his way.
Now for the hard part, he thought and moved off the simulacrum’s claw and began the painstaking trek along the virtually unending wall of the cavern. With his new compound eyes, he saw hundreds of replicas of the wall within his view, each from a slightly different angle.
As much as he would have liked to spend some time getting used to his new senses, time was a luxury he did not have in abundance just now.
He ran as fast as his tiny, chitinous legs would carry him. He knew where his goal was, just five short alcoves to his right. He only hoped that in this new form he could keep his directions straight and get there with as little difficulty as possible.
The barrage of images before him made his draconic brain hurt. The booming sound of the garnet’s voice hammered at the strange sensory organs that functioned as ears, making his head spin and his stomach heave.
He struggled against the sensory overload, fighting to keep facing the right direction and keep moving. On numerous occasions, he caught himself turning away from the sounds, his body moving away of its own accord. Each time he caught himself, it was a little harder than the last to turn himself around and head toward the source again.
At long last, after what felt like years of running, he saw in the far distance that he was in the center space between the very four wyrms he meant to be between. He grinned a toothy, insectile smile.
Reaching down to his Apex once more, he found…
Confound it! he raged silently. Of all the possibilities to overlook!
There was a flaw to his plan. He could end his transformation, reverting to dragon form, but nothing more. In his present state he could not access his Apex. It seemed the insect body did not allow for it.
After only a moment’s thought, he allowed his body to shift in form until he was a dragon of dark topaz, his coloration almost identical to the earthy gloom of the walls, but in size he was no larger than a typical cave bat.
He touched his Apex and drew forth a stream of power, just enough to turn his body invisible. He drew forth more, to ensure a larger form would remain unseen, then allowed his body to grow into proportions to a little less than half the size of his silver wyrm disguise.
With a glance to ensure he was still invisible, he dived back into his Apex for a greater torrent of power.
It was good that none of these imbeciles knew of the existence of the power he was initiating. The near-disaster perpetrated by Chhry’stuulliound so many years ago had been bad enough, even though it was considered by many to be a lesser evil than the Essence Theft itself. This nameless power, however, was another matter entirely. Those sensitive to such things would think it the most dastardly power Dragonkind had ever created.
Pushing the thoughts away, he drew forth every drop of power he could and sent it forth as tiny threads of connection that touched the form, and Apex, of every one of the dragons present in the immense chamber.
Even Graayyyavalll himself. Oh, What delicious irony that was! To think that the great garnet’s own immense power would play a part in his own destruction!
The irony was a thing of beauty.
The tendrils connecting him to the multitude of wyrms throughout the chamber pulsated with power as more and more arcane energy flowed forth from the unwitting hosts into the wyrm’s dark topaz body.
As the first drop of foreign power touched his soul, the world seemed to spin at the conflicting sensations. He shivered as a chill ran down his spine, yet his muscles clenched against a sudden influx of heat.
The mingled fiery-heat and icy-cold permeated every cell of his being as his a Apex filled to bursting with the alien power of this multitude of dragons.
He knew his timing would have to be nigh on perfect to make this work. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake. No matter what happened, he wouldn’t get a second chance at this.
A few moments before his Apex burst from the massive influx of energy, he began crafting his weapon. He weaved the incoming arcane energy into a lance unlike anything ever seen on Earth before. He gave it a core of pure adamantite, that oh-so-rare metal that was all-but-lost to humankind during the period in their history known as the Dark Ages. It was also, consequently, the only metal on Earth strong enough to pierce the scales of an ancient wyrm.
He couldn’t help wondering, briefly, what the dragon-slayers of old had used? They couldn’t all have used it. Not even all of the successful ones. Perhaps they had found success by somehow getting around the scales of those ancient wyrms?
He wrapped the adamantite core in a sheath of pure destructive arcane power. Around this he wrapped a film of liquid acid capable of burning though any substance, even dragon scale, in a nanosecond. Around The acid he poured a coating of virulent poison, the like of which had not been seen in millennia. Since the destruction of the last of the Merachnids, a grouping of dozens of species of spiders, scorpions, and other arachnida of immense proportions.
Just a drop of that Poison would have killed even the greatest of the ancient wyrms in the days before the discovery of Essence Theft. Hence the reason the Merachnids had been wiped out in their entirety.
Around the poison he crafted a layer of crackling, super-charged lightning. Around the lightning he formed a layer of super-heated liquid fire hot enough to melt rock in an instant. Over this he created a layer smoke as black as pitch and infused with negative energy, similar in effect to the life-draining of power in a shadow dragon’s elemental breath.
Atop the negative energy smoke he formed a layer of liquid ice that could freeze even a firedrake solid. Finally, atop the ice he poured a layer of kaleidoscopic light that would block any attempt to see, investigate, or Delve the lance.
Still pouring immense amounts of power into the various layers of the lance, he formed a metaphysical blade and slashed at an angle through the end of lance, leaving a sharp edge while also revealing every destructive layer in all their murderous glory.
Allowing the blade to dissipate, he continued to pour copious amounts of arcane energy into every layer of the lance, enhancing the potency of every bit of it.
He increased his draw of arcane energy from every wyrm he was connected to, funneling all that immense power into the lance.
Around the chamber, the younger dragons began collapsing from exhaustion. Their cohorts looked a around, confused. A few narrowed eyes were all the evidence the wyrm needed that at least a few had grasped, on same level, at least an idea of the danger they were in.
This was the tricky part. He could not afford to be discovered. He had plans for these wyrms.
A pulse of power flashed through the chamber. Energy shimmered around every wyrm present, sealing the Heart-Bonds of every one of them to whatever silly oath the garnet had demanded.
Now, he thought as he completed several weaves almost at once.
The first finalized the lance and brought it into physical existence, launching it at the pompous garnet atop the dais, who had his forelegs and wings raised and extended, as though he were accepting empowerment from the gods.
The second sent a massive backlash of power back to those he’d been siphoning power from, the force of which would knock them unconscious and remove all memory of the wyrm and his siphoning of power.
Those who hadn’t noticed would, at least in theory, suffer no ill effects beyond the unconsciousness.
And the third was… a curse of sorts. Albeit one that would affect himself as well as many others. It was a pattern that would seek out and identify any dragon who had ever made use of Essence Theft. Those it found guilty it would… mark. Those who had resorted to the use of such an ugly power would find their bodies and faces matching the ugliness of their souls. The more they used it, the more dramatic the changes.
On the dais, Graayyyavalll looked directly at The disguised wyrm, his eyes awash with… sadness, of all things. The glowing, kaleidoscopic lance plunged deep into the huge garnet’s chest, piercing his heart and melting away huge swaths of the flesh and scales surrounding it.
All around the chamber, wyrms writhed and shrieked in agony as their bodies were remade. Some few gained only a small potbelly, a twisted horn, a kinked tail, or strange lumps. Some acquired all of these things. Others gained all this and more in unbelievable profusion and to a grotesque degree.
Never again would anyone have to guess whether or not the dragon before them had partaken of another dragon’s essence. It could be known on sight.
The wyrm felt his own body twisting into grotesque angles as the form of the would-be Speaker of the Council slumped to the platinum dais, his garnet body disintegrating.
Fighting through the pain, the wyrm initiated the ritual to steal the great wyrm’s essence.
An agonized shriek above him almost distracted him enough to interrupt it, but he concentrated on the ritual and forced himself to casually acknowledge the shocking sight before him: the other son. The brother. The one that was supposed to have died years ago.
As he continued the ritual, the garnet creature flew toward him at ever-greater speeds and his agonized shriek became an angry wail and then a rage-filled roar.
“You!” The younger garnet roared in fury. “How Could you! After everything we’ve been through! He trusted you, you gutless son of a worm!”
As the ritual completed, the wyrm looked down at his terribly misshapen body with its shining silvery-blue scales. His natural form. His real body.
Blast it, he thought. That was an unexpected side-effect.
With an almost negligent wave, he sent the last of his power roaring toward the garnet an instant before the unspeakable hurricane of Graayyyavalll’s soul struck him.
The smaller garnet body flew toward the far wall of the cavern at impossible speed.
The silvery-crimson soul-stuff of the great garnet struck him a physical blow, knocking him from the wall to plummet toward the cavern floor.
In the instant before he struck the floor, be whispered, “I am sorry, my brother. There was no other way.”
Thanks for reading, I hope you’re enjoying the excerpts. And do keep in mind that if you haven’t done so yet, you can pre-order the full book on Amazon at books2read.com/revenge-overlords
My review of The Sword of Kaigen by M.L. Wang
The Sword of Kaigen (description via Goodreads):
On a mountainside at the edge of the Kaigenese Empire live the most powerful warriors in the world, superhumans capable of raising the sea and wielding blades of ice. For hundreds of years, the fighters of the Kusanagi Peninsula have held the Empire’s enemies at bay, earning their frozen spit of land the name ‘The Sword of Kaigen.’
Born into Kusanagi’s legendary Matsuda family, fourteen-year-old Mamoru has always known his purpose: to master his family’s fighting techniques and defend his homeland. But when an outsider arrives and pulls back the curtain on Kaigen’s alleged age of peace, Mamoru realizes that he might not have much time to become the fighter he was bred to be. Worse, the empire he was bred to defend may stand on a foundation of lies.
Misaki told herself that she left the passions of her youth behind when she married into the Matsuda house. Determined to be a good housewife and mother, she hid away her sword, along with everything from her days as a fighter in a faraway country. But with her growing son asking questions about the outside world, the threat of an impending invasion looming across the sea, and her frigid husband grating on her nerves, Misaki finds the fighter in her clawing its way back to the surface.
When the winds of war reach their peninsula, will the Matsuda family have the strength to defend their empire? Or will they tear each other apart before the true enemies even reach their shores?
And without further ado, my review:
Well, well, well.
I have to admit that this book has been on my agenda for quite a long while. It first came on my radar almost a year and a half ago when another author I admire posted a review about it.
Sadly, I have to be very choosy which books I physically read (as opposed to listening to audio) due to time constraints.
So of course, when I heard there was going to be an audio edition I was one of the first to get in touch with the author about an early review copy of the audio!
After all the hype (especially winning the fifth SPFBO contest!), I was expecting something big. Something powerful. Something intense and emotional and amazing.
And let me just say that this book did not disappoint!
Before I go any further, let’s talk about the narrator for a moment.
Andrew Tell is a new name for me. I had never even heard of him before this book, much less heard his voice. What becomes immediately clear is he has a powerful, nuanced voice. I was a bit concerned about his ability to present the female voices, and while I can’t say he does so with believable accuracy, what I can say is that he found a natural way to differentiate gender voices that comes off exceptionally well. Apart from that, his voices in general are brilliantly crafted and distinct. He has particular skill in creating nuanced vocal inflections that match the emotional resonance either described or implied from the text. And his shifts in tempo throughout the novel are nigh on a perfect match to the tone and tension of each scene.
Now, as is my wont, I will largely dispense with a discussion of the plot of the book. There are plenty of other reviews that summarize the story.
So, what is the Sword of Kaigen?
Well, here we have a large, sprawling creation that spans multiple nations yet still manages to keep things impressively personal. It is full of action, yet is emotionally resonant to a surprising degree. It is definitely what I would call a slow-burn, yet once we pass a certain point fairly early on, it becomes so engrossing, so fascinating, so viscerally real that I just couldn’t put it down.
One thing I have to admit is in the earliest chapters, I found my attention waning. At first I found it difficult to connect with Mimoru, on account of his youth, his arrogance, and his utter faith in a system he has never seen any proof of.
Misaki I found little better in those early chapters, though for wholly different reasons. She’s a woman who does not, in any way, belong in the life she’s in, and it wasn’t until much later in the story that I finally understood why she found herself living that life.
But I digress.
In short, this is the epitome of a slow-burn story in which you really don’t understand who people are or why they are the way they are until much later. It requires a fair leap on faith in the author’s ability to bring it all together and craft something beautiful.
And make no mistake, M.L. Wang accomplishes that with finesse and style.
I’ve seen other reviewers criticize the writing style as indulgent, needlessly complex, and overly wordy.
Well, I have to disagree on 2-and-a-half of those points.
Yes, you read that right. 2.5 of the three points.
Allow me to explain.
Although the writing is complex, with a good number of new words, ideas, and customs, I find that complexity fits this novel with near perfection.
Similarly, while the writing absolutely is wordy, this is a case of characterization more than anything. You’ll find many novels written in the third person that are written with considerable distance from the characters, as though the narrator is “God” or a similarly omniscient figure, thereby giving descriptions and background in a clinical way.
Not so here. Every word of this novel is written in the voice of a character, and the wordiness is 100% in keeping with the way these characters see the world.
Now, on indulgence I give a half-point.
Allow me to explain.
The author goes to considerable length to explain some things that I found obvious, and does go to great lengths to clarify cultural aspects that I suspect are well known among those more familiar with eastern cultures.
However, I didn’t find any of it to be excessive.
I give it a half point largely because I can see it being tedious to those who might be more familiar with such things.
If I had to name a single thing this novel does extremely well, it would be characters. Every major character has an incredible arc and it was far beyond a joy to witness the growth of these characters.
The author also manages what I consider the “holy grail” of storytelling, which is the combination of plot and character. The characters are the plot, and the plot is the characters. You truly cannot separate the two in this novel. Every aspect of each character’s arc is a major plot point, and every major plot point creates progression along those character arcs.
Needless to say, I can’t give you specifics about exactly what in those arcs I loved so much without giving spoilers for the story. So what I will say here is that if you read this book (and you should), go into it with the commitment to finish it. Even if you find the opening dull, trust the author to lead you on a wonderful adventure that has one of the most fantastic endings I’ve seen in a standalone novel.
Another aspect of this story that I found absolutely incredible is the mixture of magic system and world building. I place the two together (against my usual method) because they really are inseparable. The magic system is as much a living, breathing part of the world as the culture of the Kaiganese or their enemies. And I find it fascinating. It does have something of an Avatar-meets-X-men vibe to it, in that certain characters or families have their own things that they can do, while pretty much everyone who can manipulate it has access to some variant of the natural elements. But it’s so much more than than. There are so many specialized uses for the abilities they possess, and so many ways they turn those abilities into so much more than a normal individual would expect.
It was phenomenal, and in the large battle where we get to see almost everything at work, the complexity and the setup that went into it blew my mind.
It’s a rare thing for me to laugh hysterically, stand up and cheer, and bawl my eyes out all within a single book. Much less a single chapter.
This novel accomplished all three extremes in a single SCENE!
Take a moment to absorb that and think about what that would take.
Now, this is the part where I would normally talk about things that I found problematic in the novel. I’ll admit that earlier in the book I had a couple things, but later on it proved to be merely that I didn’t have a full understanding yet of the characters or the way this world works. I was under some mistaken impressions.
I think the closest thing I have to a critique is the slow progress at the start of the book. I think I was probably 5 hours into the audiobook before I got so engrossed in it that I only put it down when I absolutely had to.
I spent so much of the book in complete awe, which was only exacerbated by the fact that for much of it I just couldn’t fathom how the story was going to keep going long enough to take up the rest of the runtime!
So, let’s discuss the ending for a moment.
As I alluded to above, there are some major emotional extremes to be found in the climaxes (there are several). Every time you think you’ve reached the emotional high and it’s going to start to wind down, you find an even higher emotional extreme that you have to find a way to come down from. Only at the very end, when you feel so wrung out that you wouldn’t survive another emotional dropkick, does it finally end and bring everything around full circle for one of the most incredible endings of any book I’ve ever read.
I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It is absolutely my #1 novel of 2020.
Really, if you read only one fantasy this year, it should be this one. Even if fantasy isn’t normally your thing, read it. If superhero-eske books aren’t your thing, read it. If semi-historical isn’t your thing, still read it. And even if eastern cultures don’t normally do it for you, read this book!
You’ll be glad you did.
If you’re so inclined, you can pick up a copy from Amazon at what I consider a criminally low price!
(Please be aware that I use affiliate links, so if you purchase anything from these links I will earn a small commission)
A Memory of Light
MY REVIEW OF THE WHEEL OF TIME BOOK 14, A MEMORY OF LIGHT
Book description via Goodreads:
The Wheel of Time turns and Ages come and go, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth returns again. In the Third Age, an Age of Prophecy, the World and Time themselves hang in the balance. What was, what will be, and what is, may yet fall under the Shadow.
When Robert Jordan died in 2007, all feared that these concluding scenes would never be written. But working from notes and partials left by Jordan, established fantasy writer Brandon Sanderson stepped in to complete the masterwork. With The Gathering Storm (Book 12) and Towers of Midnight (Book 13) behind him, Sanderson now re-creates the vision that Robert Jordan left behind.
Edited by Jordan’s widow, who edited all of Jordan’s books, A Memory of Light will delight, enthrall, and deeply satisfy all of Jordan’s legions of readers.
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass.
What was, what will be, and what is,
may yet fall under the Shadow.
Let the Dragon ride again on the winds of time.
And now, my review:
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. … There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was AN ending…
And here we have it, the long-awaited and much lamented fourteenth and final book in the Wheel of Time series. As one might expect, it is another long, deep, and detailed story that once again proves this series is the very definition of Epic Fantasy.
I have a very love/hate relationship with A Memory of Light. It absolutely lived up to being as epic a close as I ever could have asked for, I have no complaints there. In truth, here is just about 40 audio hours of epic battles with not a whole lot of filler in between. If epic battles are your thing, you really can’t go wrong on this one.
As with every other book in the series, as much as I loved this book the first time I read it, I enjoyed it vastly more this time around! This is one of those series that just gets better each time you read it.
However, that very lack of “in between” is also part of the problem.
I readily acknowledge that had there been the usual detail leading up to events and the logistics of getting to those events, this probably would have been a million word book instead of the only somewhat unwieldy tome we have. However, I’m left with a lot of questions about just how people got to where they were and what they were doing between glimpses.
But, before I go any deeper on that, for those who may not have listened to the audio of any of these books yet, I have a brief word on the narrators.
It’s hard to beat the team of Kate Reading and Michael Kramer recording an audiobook. Both have an impressive array of both male and female voices that at least come close to believability. Kramer has the advantage of superb control of tempo, making it clear in any given scene just how much tension is present, while Reading does just a little bit better with portraying accurate vocal inflections.
Let’s take a deep breath and dive into this book, with all its faults and qualities laid bare.
But first, a few statistics.
This time around, my journey throughout the Wheel of Time took me 3 months and 11 days.
There were 15 books (including the prequel)
Over 4.4 Million Words
A staggering 19 days, 5 hours and 25 minutes of amazing audio
With 147 Unique PoVs and 1379 total PoVs
And a staggering cast of over 2200 characters
It’s intimidating just looking at those facts.
Alright, so I’ve seen this question asked in a number of places so I want to address it.
Is A Memory of Light the best/greatest fantasy book ever written?
I’m sorry, but no.
Well, put simply, because it is wholly incapable of standing on its own.
You cannot, under any circumstances, pick up this book with no prior knowledge and enjoy it.
And why is that?
Because this book is, in its entirety, a climax.
More than 90% of this book is devoted to paying off all the things that have gone before it.
There is very little that is new here. There are no new plot lines, no new characters, almost nothing totally unexpected. When it comes right down to it, this book is the payoff for nearly 4 million words of buildup to Tarmon Gai’don.
So what does A Memory of Light do well?
From page one we hit the ground running. This is a book about the final battle. In my view, this book might as well have been titled Tarmon Gai’don or The Last Battle, as that’s pretty much all it is. We end up with a few really neat asides that have little to nothing to do with the last battle itself, but not many of them.
My favorite among them, however, is an amazing meeting between Rand and Mat. It is the first time the two men have met since Rand sent Mat to meet with the Aes Sedai in Salidar several books ago. Both have grown so much, in both maturity, strength, and skill. Both are directly responsible for huge numbers of people and both are needed for the world to survive.
Yet, for just a minute, we see a glimpse of the men these two childhood friends used to be.
In the midst of a negotiation that has the potential to make or break the future of the world, they embark on a little game of “Who Pulled Off The Awesomest Accomplishment.” It was a much needed moment of levity that also managed to remind us that these two men have done momentous things that will shake the world for ages to come. It also highlights just how self-deceptive Mat is, as it shows that the things he’s done really do matter to him, and he knows just how much impact he has had on the world. Despite his swearing to the contrary, Mat has become a hero, one whose name will be spoken of throughout the ages to come. With at least near to as much reverence as that of the Dragon Reborn himself, if not just as much. Or more.
Similarly, in other asides we see some awesome development between a few bonded sets of Asha’man and Aes Sedai, and it’s an incredible thing to witness. I love the way that we get to explore things that were unknown even in the Age of Legends and see some truly touching character moments along the way.
As one might expect, this is the most deadly conflict in the history of the world. Characters can and do die. And while I feel there was maybe a little too much miraculous survival, in the main the authors did not shy away from letting important characters die. I won’t say who, because spoilers. But each and every death is earned and brings us both melancholy and a sense that they are working toward a greater purpose. Their deaths all have meaning. More than one is intentionally brought about by the character in question.
Now, a few areas where the book doesn’t quite deliver as strongly as I would have liked.
As has been the pattern with these final three books, the quality of the prose and especially the dialogue just isn’t what it was when Robert Jordan was writing them. The trade-off, of course, is that Sanderson’s prose has much more immediacy to it and is, for better or worse, far less centered on details of clothing and environs than Jordan’s was.
And as I mentioned above, there is an element of… summarizing in this book that I found disconcerting.
Not in the main events or the battles themselves. Those are quite detailed, with a strong focus on the action of the battles themselves. While the facts of the battles might not be wholly realistic in and of themselves, they are still epic moments to witness. You can’t help the sinking of your heart when the tides turn against the heroes, and similarly you can’t stop yourself from cheering when they strike a victory, even if it’s a temporary one.
It’s the things that happen between the battles that I found problematic.
It almost had a feel of… the final season of the Game of Thrones TV series. All the broad strokes are there. The major points, or main events if you will, are all there. The big happenings are all detailed. But I was left a bit lost as to how people got there. One moment a character would be in a place doing a thing, then we’d break to another character, and when we’d come back to the first one they’d be in a totally different place doing a totally different thing with no explanation as to how they got there or what happened in the interim.
And there is that one chapter. “The Last Battle,” it is oh-so-creatively titled. And it goes on for close to 9 hours! (or a little under 5 if you’re like me and listen to audiobooks at almost double speed)
Okay, where do I begin?
First, the idea that we have a single chapter that’s as long as most books is extremely problematic for me. Not only is it a daunting endeavor to have to read what is likely a 150-page+ chapter, but it also comes off as lazy and uninspired when it takes place in a book that has chapter titles. The larger issue, however (at least for me), is that this chapter reads extremely choppy. It bounces around from character to character quite quickly, leaving almost everything unresolved until the very end. Incongruously, there’s also a fairly major timeline problem. There are a great many instances where you read an event, then pass over 2 or 3 or more PoV changes, then you come to another character and see a new perspective on that same event. I mean, I get that you can’t see all the PoVs at the same time, but if the book is going to very choppily skip from one character to another, it could at least keep the timeline close and relatively neat. I’m not asking for both smooth transitions and closure of a character’s scene along with a clean timeline, but at least one of them should not be too much to ask.
Now, much like in Towers of Midnight, we have a vital plot line that really should have seen a lot of attention, yet it’s treated as an afterthought. I’m speaking, of course, of Padan Fain. Or whatever you want to call him, as he isn’t really Fain anymore. There’s a glimpse of him in the beginning, another toward that latter 2/3 of the book, and then we truly see him for a minute just before we reach the end of his story arc. And I have to admit that for all that I wan’t a big fan of his part of the story throughout the series (I would have been much happier if Rand or Perrin had killed him back in books 4, 5, or 6), I’m a bit bothered by how he was treated here.
Similarly, it really irks me that we never had an answer about Asmodean. Back when these were still in the writing process, Brandon Sanderson promised an answer about what happened to the lowest of the forsaken, but it never came. At least, not overtly. I understand it’s spelled out in the appendix to ToM, but that isn’t the same thing. It should not have been that difficult to build a hard answer into the text of the books.
And finally, my last real complaint is about the “epilogue.”
Yes, I meant to put that in quotes. Because although the chapter is called epilogue in the book, it really isn’t one. An epilogue is something that comes later, after the close of the story. It’s to settle everything and show you what happens after all the fuss ends. Everything here should have been chapters, and we should have seen a true epilogue that showed us a least a hint of what happened in the months or years following the last battle.
I won’t talk about who lives and who doesn’t, as I endeavor to keep my reviews spoiler-free, but I have questions. A great many of them. About the surviving characters and what a few of them have become. And how they became what they are. And what it means for the future of the world.
Now, before you go thinking I’m just ragging on this book, understand that I truly did enjoy this book. I love A Memory of Light. I cannot, unfortunately, go so far as to say it is the best book in the series. That honor rests somewhere in the first four books, if I’m being honest. Probably either the first or the fourth. However, it is an essential part of the series and I love so many things about it.
As ever, Perrin is my absolute favorite character in the series. He’s one of the few characters in the series who isn’t suddenly handed a whole boat-load of power, and stays humble throughout. While other characters are walking around with heads so big it’s amazing they can fit through doorways, Perrin is just being his usual stalwart, loyal self. He’s the gentle giant of the series (although perhaps that title would be better placed on Loial). And while yes, he does rise to power over the course of the books, his journey is much more organic and, in my opinion, much more earned than most of the others.
He does eventually learn to stand up for himself, and with a little guidance he learns how to manage his wife relatively well. And, of course, through the Wolf Dream he becomes one of the most important players in Tarmon Gai’don. Without him, all would have been lost.
Mat really came into his own strengths here as well. It was fantastic to see him given the reins as he should, and to see how well he handled himself throughout. Of course, there are times he manages to do exactly the right thing purely by accident, but then, that’s pretty much the basis for his character after book 4. His luck and the memories he never should have had are a lot of what makes him who he is, despite his fervent attempts to deny all of it.
One of the greatest moments of the book belongs, unsurprisingly, to Lan Man’Dragoran. Those who’ve been paying attention have long known the incredible skill he possesses, and the mixture of restraint, honor, and stoicism that define him as a person. I don’t think there was ever any question that he would end up being absolutely pivotal to the Last Battle in some way. I won’t spoil it, let me just say that his sequence is the stuff that legends are made of. Things like his efforts are exactly the sort of thing that define Epic Fantasy as a genre.
Following shortly after Lan, however, is Egwene. Between her political power, her phenomenal strength in the power, and that incredible sa’angreal she possesses, I don’t think anyone doubted that she would do great things come the Last Battle. And she does not disappoint.
Even now, at the end, she’s still discovering new things that completely flip the world on its head.
Elayne, for me, finally redeems herself in this book. At long last, she lets go of a least a small bit of her High and Mighty I’m Better Than You attitude and makes the most of her situation. I’m not sure I agree with the realism of the position she is placed in, but she makes the best of it and actually manages to shine in that role.
In some ways, it is Aviendha who takes the battlefield glory, however. I love how much she’s grown as a person. There was a time that not only would she have been completely incapable of leading any sort of allied force in battle, but no one outside of the Maidens would have followed her. Not so now, however. Although there is some hesitation, among the Wise Ones in particular, she manages to lead her forces brilliantly. She develops and executes a plan that, although it encounters many problems and only barely resembles her intention at the end, still comes off beautifully in the end.
Even Min, against all odds, finds a place of strength and influence from which to work during the Last Battle and I have to admit that without her, the end result would have been far different. I have to give props to Fortuona/Tuan for thinking of such a useful way to put Min’s gift to work.
And speaking of Tuan, I honestly couldn’t be happier with how she turns out.
While yes, there are some fundamental problems with the Seanchan culture in general, and I’m still grappling with how I feel about the message it sends, I don’t feel quite so strongly about it as some reviewers have. Now, if it was ALL women in their culture that they leashed and treated as property, that would be an entirely different matter. But the correlations I’ve seen people draw about the Seanchan are not only patently wrong, but also highly irresponsible.
Logain, oh Logain.
Lord Logain Ablar. What can I say about him?
He’s been through so much, and so much of it horrible and forced on him.
I don’t blame him for becoming what he does. After all his travails, if anything it’s shocking he didn’t turn to the shadow himself, purely on account of being embittered at everyone who tried to control him.
And yet, in the end we finally see him become the person I always knew him to be. The honorable, just, noble man who was presented to us when we caught our first glimpse of him in The Eye of the World.
There are honestly so many amazing characters I could talk about, I could probably turn this review into a short novel of its own. However, since there is more than enough material to read just in this book, let me close with my final thoughts about Rand.
In spite of everything he’s already been through and all he’s grown over the course of the previous 13 books, Rand still has one lesson left to learn. The one lesson that Lews Therin Telamon never did, as it happens. The very one that keeps Demandred hunting for Rand on the battlefield throughout almost this entire novel. I won’t spoil what that lesson is, but it is well that he finally learns it and does what he needs to do.
There are other lessons he has yet to learn, of course. His battle with the Dark One is not what anyone thought it would be. How could it be? We’ve had enough hints of this by now that I don’t feel I’m spoiling anything by saying that the Dark One is not, in fact, an entity. Not as humans understand such things. Rather, the Dark One is a force. A power. Although he lies outside of nature, outside of the pattern, outside of creation itself, he is a force of nature that affects all things. And Rand finally learns that lesson.
I’m not entirely certain I agree with the conclusions the author(s) come to about what destroying the Dark One would mean, but that’s neither here nor there.
I honestly couldn’t be more proud of the person Rand has become. He finally learned that strength and hardness are not the same thing, and one of them is required of him as the Dragon Reborn, while the other is not. He still has the ability to surprise everyone around him, still has the ability to smile and laugh, in spite of all the horror around him, and he is supremely devoted to what he has to do.
And in this final bit, he manages to fulfill the last few prophecies in ways that we never expected, proving even to the Seanchan that their prophecies don’t mean what they always assumed they did.
I am left with a final question about Rand. Something that is touched on but not actually addressed in the book, and it’s part of why I’m so frustrated by the lack of a proper epilogue at the end. I won’t say more here, for the sake of spoilers, but it’s something I’d love to chat about with other folks who’ve read the entire series.
Now, it is a bit of a struggle to discuss the actual ending of a book that is, in almost its entirety, an ending. But for a moment, let’s talk about the actual climax. Not the supporting climaxes that are all about winning the physical battle and keeping Rand alive long enough to do what he needs to do (of which there are many, and each is epic enough to have made it’s own epic fantasy story), but the actual climax.
Rand’s battle with the Dark One.
As I addressed earlier, it is not the literal battle that Rand (and a great many others) always thought it would be. It is something much more… metaphysical. I won’t go into details as I don’t want to spoil it. What I will say, however, is that it turned out to be something far different that what I always imagined. And in spite of some reviewers’ cynical, embittered words about it, I honestly couldn’t have been happier with it. What else could have been its basis when we’re talking about a conflict between a force that is second only to the power of creation itself and a man infused with nearly that much power, whose destiny it is to overcome the Dark One and seal him away in his prison, a prison that exists not only in the current world of the heroes but in all possible universes, all possible dimensions, simultaneously.
And at the end of it all, Rand has yet one more surprise for us. A use for a sa’angreal that none of us ever considered. One that is capable of so much more than we ever thought possible.
My one complaint about this ending is that Rand clearly planned this all out in advance, yet despite spending considerable time inside his head we are never given any inkling of it. It comes across as lazy writing to me. Or cheating, if you prefer that term.
It’s just unrealistic that he wouldn’t have thought about his plans at any time when we were inside his head seeing his thoughts.
So, final thoughts.
After spending almost 3-1/2 months in this story, I’m definitely sorry to see it end. These characters have become some of my truest friends and I’m really not ready to say goodbye.
Some I had to say farewell to earlier than others, of course. There will always be a hole in my heart for the characters who didn’t survive the Last Battle. Each death was hard won, hard fought, and managed to do something epic in the process (yes, even those whose deaths didn’t seem to accomplish anything immediate).
There is definitely a part of me that is saddened to realize there were plans for sequel novels that we’ll now never see. I would have loved to see a concurrent book or series about Demandred and his activities throughout the struggle as well, as he clearly was very busy, between what he did in Shara and in other places. And later novels to see where the characters ended up after the Last Battle would have been amazing to see.
But I digress.
In closing, this is definitely one of, if not the single most epic fantasy series you’ll ever read and I’m convinced that every fantasy reader should read this series at least once in their lifetime.
For myself, I can’t wait until I forget enough of the details to start re-reading these again.
I suspect my third read through will be even better than the second was.
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. … There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was AN ending…
If you are so inclined, you can pick up a copy of A Memory of Light HERE. If you’re new to the series, you can pick up book 1, The Eye of the World, HERE
Shadow Sample #10 (Final)
Today, I bring you the last 4 sample chapters from the original draft of Shadow of the Overlord before the book is published. I would remind you again (as always, I’m sure it gets old, lol, but it bears repeating) that these are unedited, so will certainly contain typos and other mistakes that will not be present in the final version of the book. Enjoy!
Dargon lay in his cot with an icy cloth on his forehead. He hadn’t slept in what felt like days, but at least the pain was finally beginning to dull.
“I’m still waiting for that explanation about what this is, Trevan.”
The Trevan nodded, but kept silent.
Dargon sighed in frustration.
The older man touched Dargon’s cheek, feeling it with the back of his hand. “Fever seems to have broken. Finally.”
“Does that mean it’s safe for me to sleep now?” Dargon asked hopefully.
The Trevan considered. “Not just yet. When the headache is gone, I think.”
“Not yet. I will explain, but after you’ve slept. Your body has been excessively taxed. I won’t risk stressing you further.”
“I said no, your highness. When you’ve recovered.”
Dargon narrowed his eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.” His voice came out far more petulant than he was comfortable with.
The Trevan gave a slow nod.
“Can you at least tell me why trying to sleep makes it worse?”
The priest pulled his stool closer to the cot and sat, his gaze burning into Dargon’s eyes. He was silent a moment, then said, “Okay, Dargon. Understand, the sickness you are suffering has been afflicting men for millennia. It is rare, but when it strikes there is no avoiding it. Its victims have no choice but to suffer through the symptoms until they have run their course. The affliction, for whatever reason, I’ve never heard a satisfactory answer, insists on the sufferer experiencing every moment of its torment. It is the affliction itself which intensifies if you try to sleep during its effects.”
“It… insists?” Dargon asked with wide eyes.
The Trevan nodded. “I know of no better way to describe it. The affliction acts as though it has a will of its own. It will not allow you to sleep through its effects.”
“So, you are saying there is no physiological reason for the pain to intensify when trying to sleep, but it happens anyway.”
The older man shook his head. “I have no doubt there is a direct physical reason it happens. We simply do not have a way to identify exactly what that reason is.”
Dargon nodded. It sounded reasonable. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something— probably a lot of somethings —the Trevan wasn’t telling him, but then, the priest had promised to explain after the sickness had run its course. He contented himself with that.
“But,” Dargon said as the thought occurred to him. “The way you speak of it, seems to imply that the affliction itself has will and desire of its own. That it wants its sufferers to… well, suffer. Is it intelligent?”
“After a fashion.”
Dargon furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”
“In truth, I don’t either. But I’ll do my best to explain after you’ve rested. Fair?”
Dargon nodded. It was troubling that even the Trevan didn’t understand what this affliction truly was.
Or perhaps he is only saying that because he does not want to discuss it right now, he thought. That made him feel better about it.
“How are things in the city?” Dargon asked.
The Trevan grimaced. “Oh, I don’t think that’s anything for you to be worrying about.”
“Please. I’ve been cooped up in here for days. I’m bored-”
“Days?” The Trevan asked with a slight chuckle. “No, highness. It hasn’t even been a full day yet.”
Dargon’s spirits plummeted. How could that be? He felt as though he’d been suffering in bed for a week or two at least.
“Do not be despondent, highness. Time always slows to a crawl when one is in pain. It will pass.”
Dargon sighed. “Please. I’m bored. Tell me what has been happening. Anything exciting?”
The Trevan sighed heavily. “This city has been calm and uneventful, I’m afraid. There is interesting news from the testing grounds in Cuularan, however. That has been causing quite a stir.”
Dargon furrowed his brow in thought. “Cuularan? That’s a rather minor outpost, isn’t it? Aren’t the main testing grounds in Zenova?”
“That they are, highness. Until a few decades ago, Zenova was the only testing ground.”
“Oh? What changed?”
The Trevan cleared his throat and spoke in his ‘lecturer’ voice. “In the days before the founding of the smaller, more distant cities, it made sense to have the whole of the Free-States test in a single location. But as the Free-States grew, that became less and less viable. Today, it could be a three-week journey to the grounds in Zenova from some places. That is why the dragoons began allowing any city-state more than two days’ ride from Zenova to host their own testing. Paid for by the individual city-state and overseen by an approved dragoon officer, of course.”
Dargon nodded. “So what is this news from Cuularan?”
“Apparently, some girls entered the testing this year-”
“That’s not so strange, is it? There’s no rule against it, as far as I know.”
“No, highness, there is not. Their participation is not, in and of itself, so odd. There is commonly at least one at the larger testing grounds. But Cuularan is small. I believe it has been some years since they have had a girl compete. But again, that is not the oddity. What makes it odd is the two seem to be working together to defeat the challenges and are actually doing rather well.”
“Cooperation is allowed, isn’t it?”
The Trevan smiled. “Oh, certainly. In fact, without it completing the course is said to be impossible. Much of the point of the Gauntlet is to teach the young recruits the value of the team. Most go into the course more than willing to trample every other contestant to further his own position. However, they have been working in concert from the start and are doing so well that some are speculating we may see our first female dragoons in centuries.”
“It’s that rare?” Dargon was amazed.
The Trevan nodded. “No rare that most don’t believe it has ever happened. It has been suggested that women are intentionally excluded, but no proof of that has ever been brought to bear.”
Dargon narrowed his eyes, sensing something underhanded happening. “I see. But why exclude them?”
The Trevan leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. “Many reasons, highness. And none.”
Dargon’s brows shot up.
“We men are insecure creatures. Much of the dragoon command seems to believe that was is the province of men. There is a general perception of the physical weakness of women.”
“Apparently they never met mother,” Dargon muttered.
The Trevan chuckled. “Very true, my lord. There are always those who challenge the common perceptions.”
“Is that truly what it is about?”
The Trevan grimaced. “I don’t believe so, highness.”
“Then what is it about?”
“I believe it is about the dragoon leadership. None of them know how to deal with women. They don’t know the first thing about how to reach one. Or train her. Or even talk to her. So they take measures to ensure they don’t have to.”
Dargon clenched his jaw. “But… how can they…?”
“It is because there is no official ruling. Somehow, the girls who enter never do well enough to be considered. Thus it has been for generations. So, you see, Dragon, why these two girls in Cuularan are making such a stir with their performance.”
“Against all odds,” Dargon whispered.
“I want to help them,” Dargon said. “If they earn it, I want them to get in.”
“Commendable, highness. But how?”
Chapter 18 Dargon 6
Dargon leaned back against the pillows propping him up, deep in thought.
“Also,” the Trevan said, continuing the threat of the original conversation as though they hadn’t left it. “While this isn’t news, per se, it has been brought up again recently. We still have heard no word from any of the last three dozen expeditions sent across the strait to Thorutia. It is as if they have all disappeared without a trace.”
“How long since the last one came bac. Or at least send us word?”
The Trevan closed his eyes to think. The torch behind him seemed to flare, the light blazing brighter for a moment.
The light dimmed again and the Trevan opened his eyes. “The last confirmed missive form an expedition was… decades ago, according to our records. None now live who remember when it came and no one is certain we can trust the date listed on the missive itself.”
“Decades?” Dargon asked, incredulous.
“That is the supposition, Highness.”
“What was the date listed on the report?”
The Trevan grimaced. “It was dated the eighteenth day of highmark, in the year twelve-twenty-four.”
Dargon’s jaw slipped open. “Twelve-twenty-four?” he whispered in awe. “But that was almost three-hundred years ago.”
“Hence the reason we doubt its accuracy, highness.”
Dargon nodded. “What did the report say?” Silently, he added, what if the report is right? What if it has been over two-hundred years since the last time we made contact with the isle? What would that even mean?
“That the expedition was ambushed in a pincer attack between torthugra and teranthric.”
“And no further report came?”
“And we send a new expedition every year?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Dargon furrowed his brow. “Why?”
The Trevan shrugged. “We must.”
“But why!” Dargon almost shouted in exasperation.
“Please, highness, do not get worked up. It will make the headaches worse.”
Dargon nodded, noting the increase to the pressure at his temples.
“But to answer your question, we cannot afford to miss any information which might be gleaned from a voyage across the strait.”
Dargon shook his head in wonder. “Surely you see the inherent paradox here. We can’t learn anything from a voyage that doesn’t report back.”
The Trevan nodded. “I know, Highness. Alas, it is not within my control. Your father would be the better person to speak to in this instance.”
Dargon sighed. “So you cannot tell me why we continue to send dragoons to their deaths every year.”
“You know as much as I do, Highness.”
And there it was. For whatever reason, dragoons were sent across to strait to die every year and no one even questioned it. Why didn’t they? Were they truly so blind that they didn’t see what was happening?
“We need to find a way to learn what is happening over there, Trevan.”
“On that, we agree, Highness. But how? Without sorcery, our only source of information is men on ships. And they never report back. I expect they die before they get the chance.”
“Trevan,” Dargon said cautiously. “Why was sorcery outlawed?”
The priest took a deep breath and blew it out forcefully. His intense gray eyes seemed to delve into Dargon’s soul as he sat forward. After a moment, he leaned back again and narrowed his eyes. “Now, why would you ask a thing like that?”
Dargon shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “You mentioned it. I’ve never heard an explanation of why. At least, not one that made sense and wasn’t just a lungful of bluster from bigots or idiots. I guess I was just thinking that if there was something that could be done about it…”
“I see. Well, don’t waste energy thinking on it. You would have to have deep influence in every city of the Free-States, not to mention a damned good argument to even have a chance of being listened to. And even then, I think the prejudice is so ingrained into most of the people that you could never get rid of it.”
“But how did it begin?” Dargon sat forward in his excitement, and his head exploded in agony, his vision dimming. He immediately sat back, resting his head against the piled pillows. Hands at his temples, he rubbed gently as he took a deep breath.
“I think that’s enough excitement for today,” the Trevan said. His robes rustled briefly and his booted footsteps moved toward the door.
“Wait,” Dargon whispered. “Cold cloth, please.” Even the soft whisper hurt his head. It was as though his head were inside a wardrum, the vibrations deafening.
A moment later, an icy cloth was laid against his forehead and the pain diminished almost instantly. “Thank you,” he whispered.
A gentle pressure touched his shoulder for a moment, then the Trevan’s steps moved toward the door and stepped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Dargon struggled to think through the sluggishness in his mind. The illness was bad enough on its own, but with this pain in his head, clear thought was almost impossible. He had to find a way to stop the senseless expeditions across the strait while at the same time he had to find an answer to what was happening to them. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something potentially disastrous was coming from Thorutia.
Why else would there be no report from any of them for so many years?
But there was one inescapable problem. He only had thirteen years. Not only would no one take his ideas seriously, Father included, but until he succeeded his father to the throne, he had no power to see his will done. What could he do?
He pushed the thoughts away. He would do something about the expeditions, when he could. But for now, being small in power himself, he needed to focus on small problems. The thought turned his mind back to his earlier line of thought.
There is something I can do right now, he thought, a smile touching his lips. The girls in Cuularan need help. Help I can provide. If I can get there in time, I can ensure they are treated fairly by the judges of the Gauntlet and the Combats.
His smile broadened to a grin and he summoned a servant to prepare his travel plans.
The wind tore at Taliesimon’s face as she fell, vines slapped at her while leaves whipped her skin and twigs slashed at her. She passed the outer foliage and kept falling. There was no net, no soft landing, no surprise catch.
Below, the forest floor rushed up toward her, its earth and stones looking harder and sharper than she would have thought possible.
We were wrong, she thought with a curious detachment. She couldn’t place how or why, but it seemed to her that she had thought or said these words before. The feeling of surrealism became almost overwhelming.
Faster, the ground rushed to meet her. Branches, vines, and dust bit into her flesh with surprising force.
Oddly, she recognized the damage to her flesh, but there didn’t seem to be any physical pain. She watched the ground rise up to meet her with calm acceptance.
I’m going to die, she thought, and closed her eyes to meet her end.
Abruptly, the falling sensation stopped and she registered the touch of something smooth and soft against her skin. Skin that burned. Every inch of it burned with something resembling heat, yet not. As though she lay in a pool of liquid fire, yet she also felt cool, as though the soft sheets around her had been drenched in a cold mountain stream.
She tried to slowly open her eyes, but her lids did not respond. Light appeared on the other side of her closed lids, bringing pink-tinged light into her vision to blot out the darkness.
Where am I? She wondered. Am I dead? She noted that the smaller hands of Okara and Jonah were no longer within hers.
She tried again to open her eyes. She put all the force she could muster into pushing her lids open. The effort proved far more exhausting that she had expected, but it worked. Her eyes cracked the tiniest sliver and she glimpsed the room she occupied.
The dark stone walls were seamless and the ceiling appeared to be dark mahogany. A desk stood across the room against the wall next to the open door and held numerous jars and bowls that seemed to contain various herb al remedies. To either side of her bed, at the other two walls, were two more beds, each containing a small form.
Standing in the doorway, watching her, was a tall figure robed in midnight blue. Beneath the dark cowl, she glimpsed dark skin with a short coat of glossy hair covering a face that was all sharp angles. His think lips curled up in a tight smile.
The torch in his left hand illuminated the room.
His eyes met hers and his smile widened. “You are awake, I see.” His voice held not a hint of surprise, as though he knew she had been awake for some time and was only waiting for her to openly present herself as such.
She tried to nod, but there was no movement. She settled for blinking.
He stepped toward her. “You three put on quite a show. You’ve been the talk of the city— and other cities, for that matter —for days now. It’s too bad, really.”
She opened her mouth to question, but no sound emerged. The robed man nodded and brought a carved elm cup from the desk and put it to her lips. The liquid was clean, clear, and wondrously cool in her mouth. She sloshed it in her mouth for several moments, savoring the sensation, then swallowed.
It was as though she had swallowed liquid fire. The burning brought tears to her eyes. But the moisture in her mouth and throat now was worth any pain. She greedily gulped down the rest of the cup. Thin streams of water dripped from the corners of her mouth to dribble down her chin and pool in the hollow of her throat.
Dropping the cup from her lips, Taliesimon huffed a deep, satisfied breath. She glanced back up to the robed man. “Thank you,” she gasped in a throaty rasp. She held the cup out to him. He nodded and took the cup. He dipped the cup into a large bowl. Dripping water to the floor, he brought it back to her again.
She drank slower this time, willing the water to moisten her throat so she could speak properly.
When she finished, her throat felt almost normal. Well, if one considered a throat coated in sand to be normal, at least.
She swallowed and smiled when the saliva made its way all the way down her throat.
“How long have I been here?” she asked, her voice clearer, though still raw.
“Two days,” the man said.
She narrowed her eyes. “How is that possible?”
He shrugged. “Your injuries were significant, if not life threatening. You ask me, though, you had it easy. Your little boyfriend there, he’s going to need a lot more time to recover than the two of you.”
She winced, then grimaced, and the man chuckled.
Clearing her expression, Taliesimon remembered what the man had said and cleared her throat, glowering. “What’s too bad?”
The man emitted a strange sound, something between a dry cough and a gasping laugh. “Oh, dear. Well, I suppose the goblin was bound to find its way out of the bag eventually. S’pose it might as well be now. I do hate to be the bearer of bad news, but evidently it’s falling to me anyway-”
“Get to the point,” she snapped. “What is it?”
He sighed. “It seems that you and your little friend were disqualified from the Gauntlet over a few of the stunts you pulled on the first and fourth challenges.”
“What!” she almost shouted, suddenly furious. “What do you mean, ‘stunts’?”
“Now, now. Don’t get upset with me. I’m just a Trevan. I had nothing to do with the decision. I’m just relating to you what I’ve heard from others.”
Taliesimon took a deep breath and released it slowly. “What do you mean by stunts? What did we do that was against the rules?”
“I don’t rightly know what all the rules are. The story I heard, though, is something about tearing apart the challenge area to bypass the first challenge and using each other’s bodies to defeat the river. I don’t rightly understand what it all means, but there it is. I do believe, however, that you are entitled to a full trial before you are formally disqualified from the testing.”
Those bastards! she thought in fury. No one ever said anything about rules! we even explained to the dragoon what we were doing with the raft and he approved it!
She did her best to keep her expression neutral and her eyes blank. “Obviously, I’ve never done this before. Do I automatically get this trial, or do I have to request it?” She felt proud for managing not to raise her voice.
“All are entitled to speak at a disqualification. It doesn’t happen often, but I’ve seen one before. They’ll let you speak and anyone else present. If you know anyone with anything helpful to say, you may want to ensure they’re present the day of the announcement.”
She nodded. “Trevan, apart from my family, I don’t know anyone in the city. But there is a dragoon who witnessed part of it and I think he could help. Do you know how I might contact him?”
“Do you have this dragoon’s name?”
“I,” she faltered. “No. But I know where he was on the day of the Gauntlet.
The Trevan sighed. “I’m afraid that isn’t much help. If you had a friend within the dragoons, perhaps they could help you find this man. But as it is, there is scant help I can offer.”
She nodded again, doing her best to hide her frustration. “Could you find out if my family is still in the city? I’d like to see them.”
“Now that,” the blue-robed man said brightly. “I can help with. Your father and brother have been trying to force their way in here since you arrived.”
Taliesimon smiled. “Of course they have.”
Taliesimon stood by her own power. Even that was a feat to be proud of after the last few days. She stood before a long, white table behind which sat a full dragoon council, save the Grand Master himself. Three senior members of each of the three orders sat, each one staring down at her with displeasure.
Okara stood to her left and on her right, Jonah sat in a padded chair.
The senior officer, a bony, gray-bearded man call Austoryn, stood and looked down at the three of them. When his gaze drifted past Taliesimon to Jonah, his hard eyes softened a bit.
“Recruit Jonah, we have reviewed the evidence and you do not stand accused with the girls. It is clear that your part in the events was the result of coercion. However, on account of your extreme injuries, you cannot proceed to the Combats this year. Therefore, at next year’s testing, you will be automatically elevated to compete in the Combats. I’m sure you will do us all proud.”
“Thank you, my lord. But I-” A hand clapped over his mouth from behind.
“Let’s not waste the Scale-Commander’s time with over-gracious appreciations,” said a heavily muscled man behind Jonah’s chair.
Lord Austoryn nodded tot he man, then turned his attention back to Taliesimon. His expression darkened. “Now, as for you two. No further evidence is needed to process your expulsion-”
“My lord Scale-Commander,” Okara said forcefully. “It is my understanding that I have the right to speak and call others to speak on my behalf before a decision is made.”
Taliesimon wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the Scale-Commander’s expression darkened further. “Then speak!” he barked.
Taliesimon hadn’t thought the girl capable of being so gracious.
“Before I speak, I would like a detailed account of the accusations. What specific rules did we break? What precedent do these rules have?”
“You’re a girl!” cried a deep voice from the audience behind them. “Nothing more is needed!”
Another voice, this one distinctly feminine, called, “Why were they even allowed to enter? Girls can’t be dragoons.”
The Scale-Commander raised a hand. “There are no rules against females entering the Gauntlet. It has always been open to anyone of the proper age and desire, regardless of gender or social status.”
A few boos sounded, but they were soft and seemed to lack conviction.
That’s right, Taliesimon thought. Keep your mouths shut. There has never been any rule against women becoming dragoons.
Lord Austoryn waved his hand to a younger dragoon who sat the the far left end of the table. “Dragoon-Knight Thorien, the charges.”
The man stood, a sheaf of parchment in his hands. His blond hair was pale, almost white, and hung past his shoulders. His smooth face was freshly shaved with high cheekbones, a strong, angular jaw, and a slightly bulbous nose. He cleared his throat forcefully before he spoke.
“All charges apply equally to both girls, as both had an equal hand in their plans and their combined actions. First, is the subversion of a promising recruit, leading him into rule-breaking that was not his decision. Also, sabotaging him in challenge number three, ensuring he could not continue after the Gauntlet.”
Taliesimon fumed. How dare they accuse her of doing that to him intentionally!
“Second, is the subverting of challenge number four by the holding of hands. The purpose of that challenge is to test the mettle of a recruit by his own individual physical merits.”
Taliesimon bristled. “Nevermind that almost every one of your recruits needed help to get past it,” the muttered under her breath.
Thorien turned to the next sheet of parchment. “Third, is the intentional sabotage and assault of a recruit during challenge one.”
Taliesimon turned to Okara, who looked as baffled as she felt. She mouthed, what in the hells is he talking about?
Okara shrugged. Clearly, she was just as lost as Taliesimon was.
“And finally, the fourth charge, also during challenge one, is the intentional damage and defacement of the challenge itself for the purpose of subverting and circumventing said challenge.”
The Dragoon-Knight laid the parchment sheets face down on the table.
“The intentional sabotage and assault of a recruit,” Taliesimon said. “Please tell me I’m not the only person who thinks that is the funniest damned thing they have heard since winter broke! Very nearly every single recruit does exactly that right at the start of the Gauntlet every. Single. Year! To say nothing of the violence and sabotage during the Gauntlet. Why, we witnessed a boy throwing another boy into the boiling mud during that first challenge, intentionally cooking him to death!”
Several people in the audience behind her laughed and several more voiced their assent.
Okara stomped a foot. “And if that ogre will let him speak, Jonah himself will tell you that we did not at any point coerce, subvert, nor sabotage him!”
Jonah nodded emphatically, but his father’s thickly muscled hand still covered the boy’s mouth.
Taliesimon shrugged. “Where is it written that the river must be braved without help? There were-”
“You are expected to know the rules-” the Scale-Commander began.
Taliesimon’s temper flared. “I do know the rules! I did my research. Not only was the entire Gauntlet kept secret, but none of the information I could find was even accurate! And there were no rules written or spoken anywhere save one: Win. At. Any. Cost.”
“All of the boys who placed knew the rule-”
“Did they? Or were they just too thick to think of working together?”
The Scale-Commander’s face purpled. “They knew the Gauntlet is about personal achiev-”
“It is not!” she shouted. “The very first challenge is im. Poss. I. Ble. Without a team effort. It cannot be done alone, especially from the bedrock under the mud!”
“Were too caught up in personal achievement to think about working together. Perhaps that is why so many of your vaunted boys never make it past the first challenge! I didn’t see it then, but now I realize the numbers are so few that anyone who overcomes the first challenge is guaranteed to place so long as they finish the Gauntlet! You have it rigged by sending every boy in thinking that working as a team is somehow a bad thing-”
“You are out of-”
“No, Lord Commander!” Taliesimon screamed at him. “I am not out of line! I just see what you don’t want anyone to notice. I also see this hard truth: That what this is really about is keeping girls out of the dragoons!”
“SILENCE!” the Scale-Commander roared.
Taliesimon found her voice had fled her. Inexplicably, she now felt meek and vulnerable.
“Even if we were to assume your arguments were valid,” he said in acid tones. “We cannot overlook your defacement of the first challenge. That alone is enough ti disqualify any recruit.”
“Then it’s a good thing we had permission!” Okara almost shouted.
Several of the council chuckled and the Scale-Commanded laughed heartily.
Taliesimon’s face burned. “It’s true.”
Austoryn continued laughing as he said, “I’m sure, child. I’m sure.”
“There is proof,” she cried.
The Commander sobered. “What proof?”
Taliesimon stopped herself from smiling. “The man we spoke to, one of the dragoons who supervised the first challenge. He questioned what we were doing when we pulled the first stake from around the pit. We explained and told him of our idea, and he approved, saying we could proceed.”
The Scale-Commander’s face paled. “Who was this dragoon?”
Dammit, she thought.