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  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 by Stephen Aryan

  Excerpt from The Two of Swords: Volume One copyright © 2015 by K. J. Parker

  Excerpt from The Court of Broken Knives copyright © 2017 by Anna Smith Spark

  Author photograph by Hannah Webster

  Cover design by Nico Taylor

  Cover art by Shutterstock

  Cover copyright © 2017 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Orbit

  Hachette Book Group

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  New York, NY 10104

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  Simultaneously published in Great Britain and in the U.S. by Orbit in 2017

  First U.S. Edition: October 2017

  Orbit is an imprint of Hachette Book Group.

  The Orbit name and logo are trademarks of Little, Brown Book Group Limited.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017943898

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-55478-7 (trade paperback), 978-0-316-55479-4 (ebook)

  E3-20170818-JV-NF

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Acknowledgements

  Extras

  Meet the Author

  A Preview of The Two of Swords: Volume One

  A Preview of The Court of Broken Knives

  By Stephen Aryan

  Orbit Newsletter

  For the Nugecon Eight

  CHAPTER 1

  The air in the tavern was thick with the stench of fear. To Habreel it was sweeter than any perfume. He smiled at the locals’ unhappiness and sipped his ale, pretending to be just another traveller passing through the town of Glienned.

  A few minutes later there was a stir in the crowd as the door opened to admit another visitor. Glancing in the mirror behind the bar Habreel saw a tall woman dressed in black leather armour and matching trousers approach and sit down on the stool next to him. He could admit to himself, if no one else, that she was a striking woman. Her raven-black hair and pale skin were not unusual, but the slight tilt to her green eyes and high cheekbones made it difficult to pinpoint her nationality. Her array of daggers, eight that he could see from an initial count, would draw attention as much as her features.

  Akosh smiled at the barman, who turned a little red under the intensity of her stare. “On the house,” he muttered, setting down a mug of ale before scuttling away.

  Habreel frowned at her and she raised an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

  “You’re a little conspicuous,” he said, gesturing at her outfit.

  Akosh rolled her eyes and waved at the mirror and their view of the room behind them. “Look again.” The surface of the mirror rippled as if made of water and her image changed, from the leather-clad warrior to a severely dressed woman with a plain face surrounded by a tight bonnet. Every feature of the woman’s face was forgettable. Only the colour of her eyes remained the same dark green, but set in a doughy face they were not enough to draw attention. “They see only what I want them to,” added Akosh.

  Habreel grimaced but said nothing. Magic. He took a deep breath and reminded himself she was a necessary evil. For now.

  “Why here?” she asked him.

  “Because Glienned is the doorway to Zecorria,” explained Habreel, keeping his voice low. It was the first large town any travellers came to when they crossed the border into Zecorria from Yerskania. It was a hub of information and people from all over the world were known to stop here for the night. Anything that happened here would quickly spread across all kingdoms in the west. If they were lucky it would cross the mountains into Seveldrom and perhaps beyond in the desert kingdoms. Tensions between the east and west from the war a decade ago had faded and trade now flourished.

  “Is that all?” asked Akosh, running a finger through the foam on the top of her ale. She languidly licked her finger and grimaced at the sour taste.

  “And because I’ve been visiting the town on and off for weeks,” added Habreel. “Zecorria is still the most hated nation in the west because of its role in the war. The Chosen and the perversion of the faith. The Warlock. The Mad King,” he said, ticking things off on his fingers. “Now I will turn that into strength and other countries will race to unite behind them. Who doesn’t like a redemption story?” he asked rhetorically.

  “I hear a lot of words, but don’t see anything exciting,” said Akosh, in a bored voice. Habreel knew she was baiting him but didn’t let her get a rise out of him.

  “Come then. It’s almost time,” he said, draining the last of his ale.

  Several people outside the tavern were all walking in the same direction with purpose. Akosh and Habreel joined the flow of bodies and soon became part of a large group that was heading towards the main square. By the time they arrived it was a little before midday. Perhaps three hundred people had already gathered, with more appearing all the time.

  The sky was a hazy blue and the air was cold enough for Habreel to see his breath. People were stamping their feet and shuffling about to stay warm but no one complained or suggested going inside. None of them wanted to miss this.

  In the centre of the square was a wooden platform normally used for travelling theatre troupes and seasonal festivals. Today the mood of the crowd surrounding it was sullen, like that of a public hanging, although there’d not been one of those for decades. Today there was no gibbet but the Mayor still wore a sour expression. “Everyone is so broody,” said Akosh, grinning at the faces all around her. “It’s delicious.”

  Habreel said nothing and tried to remain inconspicuous. A few people recognised him but not enough to start a conversation. Today he wasn’
t the only visitor in the crowd. All of the taverns and shops would be empty. It seemed as if most of the town had decided to show up. Habreel buried his smile but was secretly delighted at the size of the crowd.

  Half an hour later the square was packed with people and a low rumble of unhappy conversations flowed around Habreel on all sides.

  A shiver of excitement ran through him as everyone suddenly fell silent. Despite there being so many people squeezed in, they managed to create enough space for the masked Seeker to walk unobstructed through the crowd. No one wanted to touch the hooded figure.

  The bulky robe, long black gloves and stylised golden mask completely obscured the Seeker’s identity. With only a slit for the mouth and holes for the eyes, it was difficult to tell much about the wearer. A line ran down the middle of the mask from forehead to chin and a swirling symbol, that he thought came from the east, was painted on the right cheek. The locals probably found it intimidating and mysterious. Habreel just thought it was ridiculous.

  The only indication that the Seeker was a man came from the width of his shoulders and significant height. To Habreel his stiff gait suggested a history in the military. He wondered how such a person had ended up as a servant of the Red Tower, the school of magic in Shael.

  Shortly after the war rumours had sprung up that someone was trying to reopen the school. A few years later people across the west reported seeing masked strangers showing up, offering to test children to see if they had a spark of magic.

  Seekers used to be common but it had not been that way for over twenty years. No child would voluntarily declare they had magic and many successfully kept it completely hidden. When a community made such a discovery the hard way, often with a magical accident, it would mean exile for the whole family at best, drowning for the child at worst.

  Then came the war and with it the Warlock who soured people towards magic even further. Because of him and his twisted apprentices, thousands had died in a pointless war. Nations had been torn apart with civil war breaking out in Morrinow in the north. In the south Shael was reduced to a shattered ruin that was still in disarray. All of it had happened because of the destructive power of magic and the evil it inspired.

  It was a curse, not a blessing from the Maker, the Lady of Light or the Blessed Mother. Those who wielded magic thought it put them above everyone else. Mages claimed the power came from the Source, the heart of creation, but he didn’t believe it. History was full of tales where people had been tricked by beings from beyond the Veil, offering them power in return for favours.

  Habreel could imagine that wielding such power would be intoxicating, but it was an addictive lie that inspired arrogance and destruction. The war had shown people that magic could not be trusted and, until the Seekers had returned, the old ways of dealing with cursed children had been enough.

  Exile or death. It was hard and cruel, but it had worked for a long time. Accidents with magic were avoided and people kept safe.

  Now there was a royal decree in many countries which permitted Seekers to visit any village, town or city once a month to test children for magic. He believed in the rule of law, but when it stood in opposition of the will of the people, Habreel knew change was needed.

  All eyes were drawn to the Seeker as he moved to stand beside the Mayor on the platform. She flinched at being so close but the Seeker didn’t seem to notice. He was looking out at the sea of upturned faces. Habreel thought there was a certain arrogance about his stance.

  “Bring them forward,” said the Mayor, as if speaking about the condemned. Instead of a line of chained figures several sets of parents reluctantly came to the front of the crowd with their children in tow. All of the adults looked sick with worry, while most of the children were crying. Their ages varied considerably. Habreel guessed the youngest child was eight or nine years old and the eldest perhaps seventeen. Despite their differences all of them were united by their fear, which pleased him. The good people of Glienned were raising their children to understand that magic was a blight.

  “Don’t be scared,” said the Seeker, who remained blissfully unaware of the mood in the town. “This is a time to celebrate.”

  The parents stepped forward and many had to shove their child onto the edge of the platform. Even though they were well outside arm’s reach of the Seeker, none of the children were willing to go any closer. A couple of the smaller ones tried to run but were firmly held in place by their parents. Eight children. Eight chances of being cursed.

  “How exciting,” whispered Akosh, her eyes twinkling with delight.

  “Can you tell?” asked Habreel. “Do any of them have the ability?”

  Akosh grinned and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “That would spoil the fun.”

  The Seeker started at one end of the line with a slight girl of about ten. She was shaking so badly Habreel expected her to collapse. The masked mage raised one gloved hand towards the child and a few seconds later lowered it.

  “No,” he said, shaking his head for emphasis. The girl fell to her knees in a flood of tears. Her parents cradled her, openly weeping in relief.

  This gave the Seeker pause and he stared at them with concern. His mask roamed across the many faces in the town square and Habreel saw a noticeable shift in his posture.

  “He knows,” he murmured. Akosh showed her teeth in an approximation of a smile.

  “Did you see the Seeker arrive?” asked Habreel.

  “No, why?”

  “I wonder if he has a fast horse standing ready. If this continues he’ll need it.”

  Moving more quickly now the Seeker went down the line, pausing briefly in front of each child. Every declaration that the child had no talent for magic was met with relief and often tears of joy. At last there were only two left, the eldest boy and a girl who was keening like a wounded animal. When the Seeker raised his hand in front of the girl her wailing increased in pitch, getting higher and higher. Habreel expected the dogs in town to start howling along.

  “If nothing else, she has a future with a voice like that,” noted Akosh. The girl’s voice had taken on the pitch of a yowling cat on heat.

  The Seeker paused in front of the girl and a horrified silence spread over the crowd. Finally the girl’s voice either gave out or had become so high-pitched only dogs could hear her.

  The Seeker tried to say something but nothing happened. He had to clear his throat and try again. “She has the ability.”

  At his words the girl’s parents collapsed into a tangled heap as if hamstrung. Their wretched cries seemed to fill the entire square. The girl was sobbing, too, begging her mother to take her home, promising she’d be good from now on. Friends were commiserating with the parents, as if the girl was already dead rather than standing right in front of them.

  “This is a good thing,” tried the Seeker, but no one was listening to him. “It’s a gift.”

  “You mean a curse,” snarled the Mayor.

  When the girl realised her tears were having no effect on her parents, she grabbed hold of her mother’s hand. The reaction was unexpected and surprising. The woman recoiled as if she’d been bitten by a poisonous snake.

  “Get away from me!” she shrieked at the girl, staring in horror at her own flesh and blood.

  Beside him Akosh was chuckling while doing her best to smother it, but the smile would not stay off her face. She was starting to get some peculiar looks from those around her in the crowd. Habreel elbowed her in the ribs and she tried to turn her laugh into a nasty cough, but it wasn’t fooling anyone.

  While all of this was happening the Seeker quickly turned to the boy, raised his hand and swiftly lowered it.

  “He doesn’t have the ability,” he said, much to the relief of everyone around the boy.

  The cursed girl had fallen silent. Her face was incredibly pale and she stared at her parents with open-mouthed horror.

  “Momma,” said the girl, pleading with her eyes.

  “Maybe we could all leave,”
suggested the girl’s father. “Start a new life somewhere else.”

  “I have no daughter,” hissed the mother, before collapsing against her husband in tears.

  When the Seeker tried to lead the girl away she resisted at first but then moved as if in a trance.

  “This isn’t right,” said the Seeker, trying to appeal to anyone who would listen. Habreel could see a few sympathised with him, but they were in the minority and wisely kept their mouths shut. The Seeker was only visiting the town but they had to live here.

  “You should take the girl and leave, while you still can,” said the Mayor. A low murmur of conversation was starting to flow through the crowd, and the tone wasn’t friendly. All of the anger was directed towards the masked stranger.

  “More children will be born with the gift,” he declared.

  “We’ll take care of them by ourselves from now on,” said the Mayor.

  “You don’t know how,” said the Seeker.

  “We managed it for years before the war, long before your kind started showing up again. We’ll be just fine.” The Mayor received murmurs of support from the majority of the crowd.

  At this the Seeker paused, but not for long. He wasn’t facing one angry woman. The crowd had let him into the square, but now he must have wondered if they would let him leave so easily.

  “You can’t do this.”

  “I am the Mayor of Glienned. I serve the people’s will. You should take that child away and never come back. Tell all of your kind, they’re not welcome here any more.”

  At her declaration every person in the square cheered. The Seeker must have realised that to stay would cost more than his pride. As he approached the first row of people the Seeker cleverly used the girl as a shield in front of his body. Everyone recoiled from her as if she had the plague, creating a clear channel through the press of bodies.

  As they passed through the crowd, not far away from where Habreel was standing, he saw the girl suddenly lunge at someone. A moment later there was a terrible screeching sound and people began to move backwards in a panic. Something red sprayed into the air and a familiar coppery smell lodged in the back of his throat.