Posts Categorized: Free Readin’

THE WINDS OF WINTER by George R.R. Martin

The king’s voice was choked with anger. “You are a worse pirate than Salladhor Saan.”

Theon Greyjoy opened his eyes. His shoulders were on fire and he could not move his hands. For half a heartbeat he feared he was back in his old cell under the Dreadfort, that the jumble of memories inside his head was no more than the residue of some fever dream. I was asleep, he realized. That, or passed out from the pain. When he tried to move, he swung from side to side, his back scraping against stone. He was hanging from a wall inside a tower, his wrists chained to a pair of rusted iron rings.

The air reeked of burning peat. The floor was hard-packed dirt. Wooden steps spiraled up inside the walls to the roof. He saw no windows. The tower was dank, dark, and comfortless, its only furnishings a high-backed chair and a scarred table resting on three trestles. No privy was in evidence, though Theon saw a champerpot in one shadowed alcove. The only light came from the candles on the table. His feet dangled six feet off the floor.

“My brother’s debts,” the king was muttering. “Joffrey’s too, though that baseborn abomination was no kin to me.” Theon twisted in his chains. He knew that voice. Stannis.

And so it begins. It’s a Theon chapter (who starred in many of the best chapters from A Dance with Dragons and the series, for that matter.) It’s probably one of the few tastes we’ll get of Westeros for the next few years, barring the next Dunk & Egg story and other excerpts from The Winds of Winter. Enjoy it. Savour it.

Prologue to THE EYE OF THE WORLDMost Robert Jordan fans likely began their odyssey with his work by reading The Eye of the World, the first volume of his long-running Wheel of Time series. Despite being a Fantasy accessible to readers of all ages, The Eye of the World was released and marketed towards an adult market; of course, this didn’t hurt its success, but publisher Tor Books knew they were missing an opportunity to grow the audience among younger readers. In an effort to reach these readers, Tor released a split version of The Eye of the World in two volumes, titled From the Two River and To the Blight. Included in the first volume was a new prologue for the series, Earlier—Ravens that was designed to be more appealing to young readers than the misleading and ominous prologue that we’re all used to.

This prologue features a young Egwene and introduces readers to Emond’s Field years before the main plot of the series begins.

This far below Emond’s Field, halfway to the Waterwood, trees lined the banks of the Winespring Water. Mostly willows, their leafy branches made a shady canopy over the water near the bank. Summer was not far off, and the sun was climbing toward midday, yet here in the shadows a soft breeze made Egwene’s sweat feel cool on her skin. Tying the skirts of her brown wool dress up above her knees, she waded a little way into the river to fill her wooden bucket. The boys just waded in, not caring whether their snug breeches got wet. Some of the girls and boys filling buckets laughed and used their wooden dippers to fling water at one another, but Egwene settled for enjoying the stir of the current on her bare legs, and her toes wriggling on the sandy bottom as she climbed back out. She was not here to play. At nine, she was carrying water for the first time, but she was going to be the best water-carrier ever.

Pausing on the bank, she set down her bucket to unfasten her skirts and let them fall to her ankles. And to retie the dark green kerchief that gathered her hair at the nape of her neck. She wished she could cut it at her shoulders, or even shorter, like the boys. She would not need to have long hair for years yet, after all. Why did you have to keep doing something just because it had always been done that way? But she knew her mother, and she knew her hair was going to stay long.

Close to a hundred paces further down the river, men stood knee-deep in the water, washing the black-faced sheep that would later be sheared. They took great care getting the bleating animals into the river and back out safely. The Winespring Water did not flow as swiftly here as it did in Emond’s Field, yet it was not slow. A sheep that got swept away might drown before it could struggle ashore.

A large raven flew across the river to perch high in the branches of a whitewood near where the men were washing sheep. Almost immediately a redcrest began diving at the raven, a flash of scarlet that chattered noisily.

The redcrest must have a nest nearby. Instead of taking flight and maybe attacking the smaller bird, though, the raven just shuffled sideways on the limb to where a few smaller branches sheltered it a little. It peered down toward the working men.

Ravens sometimes bothered the sheep, but ignoring the redcrest’s attempts to frighten it away was more than unusual. More than that, she had the strange feeling that the black bird was watching the men, not the sheep. Which was silly, except . . . She had heard people say that ravens and crows were the Dark One’s eyes. That thought made goosebumps break out all down her arms and even on her back. It was a silly idea. What would the Dark One want to see in the Two Rivers? Nothing ever happened in the Two Rivers.

You can read the entirety of Earlier—Ravens via Wattpad; be warned, though, that it is certainly geared to young readers and begins the Wheel of Time with a decidedly different tone than the original prologue.

The Scar by Sergey and Marina Dyachenko

Where did he come from and where is he going? He wanders the world like the constellations wander the sky. He roams along the dust-laden roads and only his shadow dares to follow in his footsteps.

It is said that he possesses great powers, but they are not of this world.

Even the mages avoid him, for he is not subject to them. Whoever stands in his way, either through the whim of fate or through his own folly, curses the day of that encounter.

His intentions are unknown. The roads serve him like dogs.

The mountain heights and the pebbles of the far sea; the hills, ravines and fields; the forests and foothills; the plains and shores; the lanes and highways: all hide his secrets.

It is said that he will roam and wander eternally. Take care not to meet him, either in a crowded fair or in a hermit’s den – for he is everywhere.

And if one day you should hear the footsteps of the Wanderer at your door…

Several weeks ago, I gushed enthusiastically about the cover art for The Scar by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko, a well-respected novel by the Ukranian authors that is finally being translated and brought to English readers. I love the idea of tackling Fantasy from the perspective of writers from different cultures than the usual UK/North American/Australian writers, so this is firmly on my radar, but I can’t say that this excerpt has me too excited; a lot of passive, overly complicated writing:

The room became quiet immediately, so quiet that the landlady stuck her inflamed, purple nose out of her kitchen. The revelers looked around in mute amazement, as if they expected to see the menacing Spirit Lash on the smoke-fouled ceiling. Bewildered, at first Ita just opened her mouth, but then, finally realizing what had happened, she dropped an empty jug on the floor.

Yowza.

Still, you can read the excerpt from The Scar by Marina and Sergey Dyachenko and judge for yourself.

THRONE OF THE CRESCENT MOON by Saladin Ahmed

Doctor Adoulla Makhslood, the last real ghul hunter in the great city of Dhamsawaat, sighed as he read the lines. His own case, it seemed, was the opposite. He often felt tired of life, but he was not quite done with Dhamsawaat. After threescore and more years on God’s great earth, Adoulla found that his beloved birth city was one of the few things he was not tired of. The poetry of Ismi Shihab was another.

To be reading the familiar lines early in the morning in this newly crafted book made Adoulla feel younger—a welcome feeling. The smallish tome was bound with brown sheepleather, and Ismi Shihab’s Leaves of Palm was etched into the cover with good golden acid. It was a very expensive book, but Hafi the bookbinder had given it to Adoulla free of charge. It had been two years since Adoulla saved the man’s wife from a cruel magus’s water ghuls, but Hafi was still effusively thankful.

Adoulla closed the book gently and set it aside. He sat outside of Yehyeh’s, his favorite teahouse in the world, alone at a long stone table.

His dreams last night had been grisly and vivid—blood-rivers, burning corpses, horrible voices—but the edge of their details had dulled upon waking. Sitting in this favorite place, face over a bowl of cardamom tea, reading Ismi Shihab, Adoulla almost managed to forget his nightmares entirely.

The table was hard against Dhamsawaat’s great Mainway, the broadest and busiest thoroughfare in all the Crescent Moon Kingdoms. Even at this early hour, people half-crowded the Mainway. A few of them glanced at Adoulla’s impossibly white kaftan as they passed, but most took no notice of him. Nor did he pay them much mind. He was focused on something more important.

Tea.

 

Upon announcement, Saladin Ahmed’s debut novel, Throne of the Crescent Moon shot to the top of my most anticipated books. It’s been perched up there leering at me ever since. If you’re a fan of old school Sword & Sorcery, or you’re looking for Fantasy that steps away from the traditional faux-European setting, give Ahmed’s work a look.

For further introduction to Doctor Adoulla Makhslood and the setting from Throne of the Crescent Moon, be sure to read some of Ahmed’s award-nominated short fiction. I enjoyed ‘Where Virtue Lives’ (Beneath Ceaseless Skies #15) most particularly.

'The Butcher of Anderson Station' by James S.A. Corey

A new story set in the world of The Expanse. One day, Colonel Fred Johnson will be hailed as a hero to the system. One day, he will meet a desperate man in possession of a stolen spaceship and a deadly secret and extend a hand of friendship. But long before he became the leader of the Outer Planets Alliance, Fred Johnson had a very different name. The Butcher of Anderson Station.

This is his story.

Well this is just music to my ears. Leviathan Wakes is one of the best novels I’ve read this year (REVIEW). It’s sequel (COVER ART) is one of my most anticipated novels of 2012. And a short story, completely out of the blue, revolving around one of the first novel’s most interesting characters and events? Sign me right on up.

A quick excerpt:

When Fred was a kid back on Earth, maybe five or six years old, he’d seen a weed growing in the darkness of his uncle’s cellar. The plant had been pale and thin but twice as tall as the ones out in the side yard, deformed by reaching for the sunlight. The man behind the bar looked just like that: too tall, too pale, too hungry for something he’d never had and never would. Belters were all like that.

The music in the bar mixed Punjabi rhythms with a high-voiced woman rapping in the polyglot mess of languages that made up Belter creole. The battered pachinko machine in the back rang and skittered. Hashish smoke sweetened the air. Fred leaned back on a bar stool meant for someone ten centimeters taller than he was and smiled gently.

“Is there a fucking problem?” he asked.

‘The Butcher of Anderson Station’ is 9,000 words long and available on all the major eBook platforms and costs as much as a bad gas station latte. Go buy it now. I already have.