PATH OF ANGER: The Book and the Sword: 1 - Hardcover

Rouaud, Antoine

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1250059224 ISBN 13: 9781250059222

Verlag: St. Martins Press-3PL, 2015

Inhaltsangabe

There will be blood. There will be death. This is the path of anger...

Year 10 of the new Republic, in the remote port city of Masalia. Dun-Cadal, once the greatest general of the Empire, has been drinking his life away for years. Betrayed by his friends and grief-stricken at the loss of his apprentice, he's done with politics, with adventure, and with people. But people aren't finished with him - not yet.

Viola is a young historian looking for the last Emperor's sword, said to have been taken by Dun-Cadal during the Empire's final, chaotic hours. Her search not only leads her to the former general, but embroils them both in a series of assassinations. Dun-Cadal's turncoat friends are being murdered, one by one, in the unmistakable style of an Imperial assassin...

But as Dun-Cadal comes to realize, none of these developments - not even the surprise of meeting his supposedly deceased apprentice - has been the result of chance. An intrigue transcending the fates of the individual characters has been put into motion, and its secrets are revealed one by one as the story unfolds.

In this debut novel, Antoine Rouaud displays an astonishing virtuosity, sustaining a high level of suspense seldom seen in a work of Fantasy. Depicting mortal characters thrown into the maelstrom of History and who ultimately become figures of legend, The Path of Anger proves to be one of the most hotly anticipated fantasy debuts of this year.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Antoine Rouaud is a major new player in the fantasy genre. Born in France in 1979, he spent his childhood writing stories, imagining scenarios and composing songs before joining the world of radio. Today he is designer and writer at NRJ Radio and has worked on a series of audio soap operas, for which he has won two awards. The Path of Anger is his debut novel.

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The Path of Anger

By Antoine Rouaud, Tom Clegg

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2013 Antoine Rouaud/Éditions Bragelonne
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-250-05922-2

Contents

Cover, 
Title Page, 
Copyright Notice, 
Dedication, 
Part I, 
1 A Scent Of Lavender, 
2 The Battle Of The Saltmarsh, 
3 Wound, 
4 The Assassin, 
5 Blood-Stained Gloves, 
6 A Son, 
7 Regain Your Dignity, 
8 Kapernevic, 
9 Saving A Life, 
10 Logrid, 
11 The Fall Of The Empire, 
12 At The Crossroads, 
Part II, 
1 Destiny, 
2 Hunted, 
3 Garmaret, 
4 The Face Of His Enemy, 
5 Remember Who You Are, 
6 Mastering The Dragon, 
7 Esyld, 
8 Pain, 
9 The End Of A World, 
10 A Heart Full Of Rage, 
11 To Live Again, 
12 The Choice, 
13 The Murmur Of The Gods, 
14 The Path Of Anger, 
Epilogue, 
Acknowledgements, 
About the Author, 
Newsletter Sign-up, 
Copyright, 

CHAPTER 1

A SCENT OF LAVENDER

There comes a day in every life, A meeting point of what we were, What we are and what we will be. At that moment, As all things draw to a close, We decide our fate. Proud or ashamed of the road travelled ...

Es it allae, Es it alle en, Es it allarae.

What you were, what you are, what you shall be. It was the port city's motto. Its true meaning mattered little when even the humblest traveller knew the saying without ever visiting the city. Here, in the South of the former Kingdoms, Masalia had always been the city where all things were possible.

Possible because, positioned far from the Imperial capital, at the end of the world, it represented the last outpost of civilisation before the so-far-unexplored expanse of the Western Ocean. Large numbers of trading ships ventured from its port, sailing to the Sudies Islands or following the coastline to the cities of the North. And possible because Masalia had been conquered so many times, by so many Kingdoms, that it no longer possessed an architecture it could call its own. Each neighbourhood bore the traces of its successive rulers, from the tall square towers of the Aztene period, with their characteristic dragonhorn crowns, to the proud mansions of the Caglieri dynasty and their flower-filled balconies, not to mention the three cathedrals of the Fangolin faith, two of which had been built on the still-smoking remains of pagan temples. In this city it mattered little where you came from, who you were, or what you might become. Masalia was the product of the history of all the former Kingdoms. As the saying went: 'Rich or poor, weak or powerful, you who are fleeing from other parts of the world, rest assured that here, at the crossroads of peoples, you shall find what you are seeking.'

Nothing could dampen the hopes and dreams evoked by the mere mention of Masalia. Not the heavy rain pouring down upon the red tiled rooftops. Not the mud it carried along the gutters in the narrow alleys. And not even the worn stone façade of this particular tavern, from whose open windows came the muffled sounds of men drinking.

'Are you sure this is the place?' asked a hoarse voice.

From beneath her ample hood, Viola peered at the tavern door. A few raindrops slid slowly down her round spectacles, blurring the brightly lit windows. She nodded, stepped forward and her boots sank into the mud with an unpleasant squelch. Her slender shadow, which fell across the wooden door, was suddenly engulfed by the much larger one of the person walking behind her. She hesitated, her hand poised over the heavy iron door handle. Trickles of rain ran over the black metal flecked with rust ...

'You who are fleeing from other parts of the world ...'

There was no going back now. Her mouth was terribly dry but there was no question of giving up at this stage. The sound of her companion clearing his throat drew her out of her reverie. With a brusque gesture, she seized the handle and pressed down.

'Rest assured that here you shall find what you are seeking.'

The fresh air they brought in with them dissipated quickly in the coils of acrid smoke which rose up to the ceiling, while the rhythmic drumming of the raindrops on the ground outside almost vanished beneath the hubbub of loud voices, bursts of laughter and the clinking of tankards. A bolt of lightning briefly silhouetted the massive shoulders and bald skull of the man with her. He closed the door behind him before following in Viola's footsteps and emerging into the light cast by the oil lamps. A serving wench came to a sudden halt, almost dropping her tray as she saw the tattoos covering his olive skin. They snaked their way gracefully over the most minute features of his face. For an instant he locked eyes with her before she ducked away to serve a table nearby. The drab, elderly merchants seated there applauded her arrival.

Times had changed and the Nâaga were no longer such frightening figures. It was becoming less surprising to see a savage here, in the city, and still less in a dive like this. While the Empire had included only civilised folk, the Republic prided itself on opening its doors to anyone ... or anything.

The Nâaga took in the room with a wary eye. Most of those present were traders from the small towns of the West, here in Masalia on business, but there were also travellers of a very different sort. When he saw Viola was already forging through the crowd without waiting for him, he let out a groan. He knew the kind of brigands who tended to hide in a place like this, where even a simple glance taken the wrong way led to trouble.

She had already reached the counter when he caught up with her and she was holding a wrinkled piece of paper out to a round-faced man. As he smoothed it out on the countertop to decipher it, the tavern keeper ran a hand over his balding, sweat-beaded head. His mouth fell open as he puzzled over it, revealing his three remaining teeth.

'Dun ... Dun ...' he said out loud. 'Ah yes, that must be pronounced like "Deune"! He's a fellow from the West? Yes, yes. That's why I didn't understand ... Written Dun, but pronounced Deune. Typical of the Westies, that is. Go figure, they're not like us.'

'This Dun ... is he here?' asked Viola.

The tavern keeper raised an eyebrow and gave both the young woman and the Nâaga leaning against the counter to her right an appraising look. The dark face with the black serpents dancing across the smooth skin made him feel uncomfortable and he patted down a tangled tuft of pepper-and-salt hair sticking out over one ear. The woman was still hooded and shadow masked the upper part of her face. He only caught the gleam of a pair of spectacles reflecting the lamplight.

'And who are you, exactly?' he grumbled, peering at the protruding handle of the mace which the giant carried on his back. 'I don't want any trouble here.'

'We don't intend to cause any,' Viola assured him. 'Rogant here is merely my ... protector,' she added as she slowly lowered her hood, her lips curled in a slight smile.

The tavern keeper's recalcitrance vanished as to he took in the delicate features of her face. Behind the small round lenses of her spectacles two deep green, almond-shaped eyes gazed back at him. Above her cheeks, freckles dotted her milky-white skin, accentuated by bright red hair which was gathered into a chignon, two stray locks dangling before her ears.

'As you might imagine, without him, in these neighbourhoods, I'd be the one risking...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: St. Martins Press-3PL
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2015
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1250059224
• ISBN 13: 9781250059222
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 446
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: gpsr@libri.de; gpsr@libri.de; ; Friedensallee 273; Hamburg; 22763; Deutschland