Wren to the Rescue

By Sherwood Smith

All her life Wren has hoped for an adventure. Now she has one—with a kidnapped princess, a handsome prince, and a magician. What does it matter if the princess is only Tess, her best friend from the orphanage; if the prince is a youngest son with no chance of becoming king; and the magician is an apprentice?

Wren leads the other three over mountains and past killing spells, fighting battles along the way. But then she finds herself up against some shape-changing magic that may end her life as a human forever!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book View Cafe
• Release date: Aug 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781611381023

Sherwood Smith

Sherwood Smith started making books out of paper towels at age six. In between stories, she studied and traveled in Europe, got a Masters degree in history, and now lives in Southern California with her spouse, two kids, and two dogs. She’s worked in jobs ranging from counter work in a smoky harbor bar to the film industry. Writing books is what she loves best. She’s the author of the high fantasy History of Sartorias-deles series as well as the modern-day fantasy adventures of Kim Murray in Coronets and Steel. Learn more at www.sherwoodsmith.net.

Book preview

WREN TO THE RESCUE

Sherwood Smith

wrensdog

Copyright © 2011 Sherwood Smith

ISBN: 978 161138 1023

Book View Café Edition

September 2011

BVClogo-noborder

www.bookviewcafe.com

Table of Contents

WREN TO THE RESCUE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Copyright & Credits

About the Author

Book View Café Ebooks by Sherwood Smith

About Book View Café

Chapter One

Wren stared at Tess in amazement. You’re a what?

A princess, Tess said again.

Oh, I get it. A new game. Wren clapped her hands. So how do we play? Am I a princess, too?

Tess shook her head. It’s not a game.

Tess, Wren said slowly, if this is supposed to be a joke, it’s not working.

The two girls stood there under the spreading branches of their favorite tree, each trying to see understanding in her best friend’s countenance.

Wren studied Tess’s familiar face above the plain gray dress that all the girls at Three Groves Orphanage wore. She saw no hint of a smile on the curved lips, and Tess’s blue eyes gazed steadily and solemnly back at her. In front of Tess’s white apron, her long hands clasped each other tightly. This wasn’t any joke.

Long lost? Wren asked in a tentative voice. Images flitted through her mind, and she just had to add, Lost . . . stolen away by the Iyon Daiyin, perhaps? And you’ve been rediscovered—here?

Tess smiled at last, her own sweet smile that transformed her long face into something very beautiful indeed.

Not long lost. Just—hidden.

Wren’s skin prickled with horror when a gleam appeared along in her friend’s eyelids—a sheen of tears Tess was not going to let fall. If she just found out she’s a princess, Wren thought, the news doesn’t seem to be part of a happy ending. To make her best friend smile, Wren gave a loud and dramatic sigh of disappointment. Well, then I’ll still have hopes for me. She plumped down on a tuft of long green grass. So you’ve had a secret, and now you’re telling me. Can you tell me any more than that?

Tess rubbed one of her hands up her sleeve and down again.

Yes. Mistress Leila is my aunt, and a princess in her own right. She’s really Leila Shaltar—

Wren knew as well as any child in Siradayel the names of Queen Nerith’s offspring. Princess Leila Shaltar, the Queen’s youngest daughter? The one who was supposed to have gone off traveling and settled out of the country? At Tess’s nod, Wren’s light blue eyes grew round as icebird eggs. Are you a secret ninth child—

Tess shook her head. No. I’m the daughter of Princess Astren—

Third daughter of Queen Nerith!

—and King Verne Rhisadel, of Meldrith.

Perplexed, Wren frowned. I thought . . . well, I guess I never thought much about Meldrith—it being so far away—but I remember, somehow, hearing that there wasn’t any heir.

There is an heir. Me. But I’ve had to live here in secret except for a short trip every year to see my parents. On my birthday, which comes day after tomorrow.

I thought your birthday was in summer, just after Gerrin’s—oh! That was a pretend one?

Tess nodded slowly, solemn again as Wren sighed, sagging like one of the orphanage cushions. She was a short girl, with a square face and small hands and feet. Her only remarkable feature was a her bushy cloud of brown and blond streaked hair, as if—Zanna the orphanage pest said once—two scalps of hair had had a fight for possession of her head and both had become attached. Wren’s braids were long and thick and heavy and seldom remained neat. Tess admired that about Wren. That hair of hers had character.

In contrast, Wren often and longingly wished that her hair was more like Tess’s—waving, shining, auburn, and it never seemed messy.

A new idea seized Wren, like a boulder had transported itself straight into her heart. So you’re leaving for good, is that it? That’s why you’re telling me?

Tess said quietly, I think my parents might try to keep me in Cantirmoor this time if nothing happens.

Nothing happens? Wren repeated, bouncing up from the ground. A curse? Is that it? You’ve been under a curse?

Tess nodded, her forehead puckered with unhappiness.

Wren said longingly, Oh, how I wish it were me.

This made Tess laugh. She sank down onto a low rock and laughed, rocking back and forth rather like a kettle on the boil, because she didn’t make any noise. Wren stopped bouncing about and regarded her with a mixture of mischief and concern. To Wren, Tess’s laughter sounded uncomfortably dose to tears. I guess I shouldn’t have said that— Wren began.

Tess lifted her head. Why should you stop saying what you wish?

Wren spread her hands, giving her friend a funny, lopsided smile. Well, things have changed.

Do you think I’ve changed?

Wren peered doubtfully into Tess’s upturned face. You haven’t, but your place has. Unless you’re about to tell me that I’m a princess, too. Wren struck a princess pose—and sure enough, Tess smiled again.

I wish I could. In fact, truth to tell, I wish we could trade places. You want a life of adventure—how many times we’ve talked about it! And I don’t, really.

Wren thought about that. She had been sent down to the larger Three Groves Orphanage from a small, overcrowded one in the high border mountains three years ago. There, orphans were trained to obey orders and to be good general helpers, and when they prenticed out on their twelfth or thirteenth birthdays, it was nearly always for unskilled labor. The mountain folk were very close. Weavers, clock-makers, and other skilled artisans tended to take prentices from their own families first. No one in the mountains had much need for scholars or scribes. So it had not been thought necessary to teach Wren and her fellow orphans to read.

When she had been near nine—reckoning from the day she was first found—the Keepers had met with the Village Council, who had decreed that there were too many children and not enough jobs.

Wren was among those sent down to the larger village of Three Groves. She’d been happy about the change—hoping she might now be allowed to do what she wanted—but at Three Groves she’d found that, despite the larger numbers of children, the available positions were much the same. True, a small number of children, mostly girls, were trained to serve as scribes or governesses for noble families in the local great houses, but Wren was told that she was too old to learn the many skills needed. And traveling players? Three Groves children were prenticed out for respectable jobs! So Wren was once more employed in the garden, laundry, kitchen, and more and more often at the pottery.

At first she hadn’t noticed Tess, who was quiet and diligent. But one after noon she caught Zanna and her two toady friends picking on Tess. One thing Wren had learned on the mountain was how to deal with bullies. She dashed in, arms swinging, to defend Tess, though she was older, sending Zanna and her pals scattering like squawking chickens.

Wren told Tess how to handle bullies, after which the two got to talking . . . or rather, Wren talked and Tess listened, with such interest and sympathy that in a burst of confidence, Wren admitted her secret desire to become a stage player. Tess had a revelation of her own: that she owned a book of historical plays. She volunteered to teach Wren to read them. That had sealed their friendship.

Wren looked up. You always knew, didn’t you? You were living in disguise.

Tess smiled. Aunt Leila told me when I was five. Before then we made those yearly visits, but I didn’t know who the strange man and woman in the pretty clothes were.

When you go there, do you get to put on jewels and a crown and have people wait on your every wish?

Tess got up and stared through the hanging willow leaves to the tumbling stream. No. Nice dresses, but otherwise my visits have always been much like life here. I never got to meet any other children, of course. I had to be kept in secrecy, and I was always on my very best behavior . . . Tess hesitated, then shrugged. It was not exciting. It was—strange. My parents are strangers. My true home strange as well.

Tess’s voice was soft and even, as always, but Wren understood that being a secret princess wasn’t nearly as much fun as it sounded. Mistress Leila, teacher of writing and deportment at the orphanage, had coached Tess to speak dearly and well, to never raise her voice. Tess had also learned to hide her feelings.

I don’t really know her. Wren grimaced at her hands, struggling with the idea. I thought I did.

She’d thought her best friend a quiet, ordinary girl, content with things as they were, content with Wren being leader in everything they did.

And here you’ve been spending all this time listening to me pretend to be people in history and watching me juggle and tumble, Wren exclaimed. Then she remembered the import of Tess’s words and winced. So back to the question I really hate. You’re telling me for good-bye?

Tess said quickly, I believe I am to go back for good, but Aunt Leila said I could tell you, in case you might like to come to Cantirmoor with me.

Wren sighed happily. Would I! She wrinkled her nose. Or would I have to be your maidservant? I will, if I must—but I don’t know that I’d be a very good one. You know how they’re always getting mad at me in the kitchen, and garden, for daydreaming.

Tess shook her head. I wouldn’t want you to come as that. I know you wouldn’t be happy. Aunt Leila said we have to leave here as just Wren and Tess. No one here’s to know. She said that there will be plenty of opportunities for you to try other things in Cantirmoor.

Wren clasped her hands. The stage players. She danced across the grassy space, then did a cartwheel. Not those old, mean traveling players who came to the village square, and chased us away from their wagon, but real players, with beautiful clothes, speaking poetry, and performing before the toffs. She struck a proud pose, then grimaced. Though I thought you had to be beautiful. And no matter how much I try, I will never be able to sing.

You’d do well, I should think, because your memory for long poems is so good, Tess said loyally. And you know by heart all the plays in my—

In the distance, a bell clanged.

Dinner. Wren groaned.

Tess got up and straightened her skirts with smooth, automatic movements. Aunt Leila said we could come here to talk privately just until dinner.

Wren looked around the small space, protected by the thick hanging leaves, where they’d shared so many games. Nobody knew! But why . . . how . . . your parents— Wren stopped and drew a deep breath. I think my head is going to pop from all the questions growing in it. Let’s begin with one. The curse.

Not a curse, precisely—a threat. Tess pushed aside a curtain of leaves. Does the idea frighten you? Would you rather not come?

Wren said fervently, Not likely!

Then let’s talk more tomorrow, as soon as we can find time alone. Tess waited until Wren passed, then let the leaves fall. We’d better go to dinner now, or we’ll be missed.

Wren’s answer was a muffled groan of impatience as she bounced up the rocky slope behind their Secret Tree. Tess smiled and followed more slowly.

Chapter Two

Looking at her narrow bunk that night, Wren whispered, Last time for you.

She had begun to unlace her plain woolen orphan’s gown when she was startled by a shriek of rage from the next bunk.

Wren spun around in time to catch Zanna’s golden head ducking aside as her fingers tweaked viciously at Mira’s braid.

Mira’s nightgown was still over her head. Mira gave a muffled squawk and tried to fend off the bully, but Zanna elbowed her hard in the mid-section and stuck out a foot so that Mira staggered into the center aisle and crashed into two other girls.

Wren caught Zanna’s arm as the older girl tried to escape around the side of a bunk.

I saw that, Wren said. Leave Mira alone.

Zanna glowered at Wren, then sniffed and flounced back to her side of the room. Mira yanked her nightgown down, her eyes filled with tears. The rest of the girls quickly finished getting into their nightclothes.

Climbing into bed, Wren thought about how strange it was. This might be the last time she’d defend anyone against Zanna and her pals. She’d tried to teach Mira and the smaller girls how to handle bullies, but they’d always come to Wren because she was stronger, quicker, and good at it.

I’m good because I learned to be, Wren thought. Should I warn them they’d better start practicing?

No, she had to keep Tess’s secret. Well, it’s not like they don’t know what to do. I’ve showed them, over and over. It’s time for them to do it.

The door opened, and Mistress Lith swept in, demanding to know why there was so much noise. Voices rose, but as usual only her favorite, Zanna, was allowed to speak. After she told her version, everyone was threatened with extra kitchen duty if it happened again. Then Mistress Lith blew out the lamp and left.

Wren lay quietly, smiling in the dark, and listened to the familiar hasty rustlings as the slow girls finished getting into their nightgowns, the creak of the wooden beds, and last the soft hiss of breathing.

I’ll be gone, she thought, savoring the strangeness of the idea. She fell asleep trying to imagine life in a real royal palace and only worrying a little about Tess and the curse.

wrensdog

The next morning, instead of racing out while braiding her hair, Wren jostled for a place in front of the little mirror to make certain her braids were neat and her apron and bodice laces straight.

At breakfast Tess gave her only a brief, shy smile as Wren passed by to sit with her own dormitory.

Afterward Wren dawdled in the hall until she felt a light touch on her shoulder. She found herself looking up into Mistress Leila’s face. Mistress Leila was the youngest Keeper, with bright red hair worn in the customary severe Keeper’s bun. Her smile was rare and usually wry, and though she never raised her voice, she had a way with sharp words that had earned her a formidable reputation. Even the rowdiest boys seldom gave her trouble.

She’s really a princess, Wren thought wonderingly as Mistress Leila said in a very low voice, Tess is waiting for you in the Keepers’ parlor. I’ll be there presently. Then she glided smoothly by as red-faced Master Milvar bustled in, shouting orders at a string of youths running after.

Wren put a hand up to hide her grin. No more digging out carrots with him bawling and squalling at me to be faster, she thought as she walked with sedate steps to the Keepers’ parlor.

She opened the door and peeked in curiously.

On ordinary days the orphans were not allowed in there. The room was much like the plain, scrubbed-clean downstairs parlor, where the orphans were interviewed by potential masters when it was their turn to prentice out. Tess had been sitting by the window, staring down into the road, but at the sound of the door opening, she smiled a welcome.

Wren plopped down onto one of the straight-backed chairs and said, Now! Tell me about the curse,

Tess gave a quiet laugh. It wasn’t a curse. I’m glad, I must say. It was a threat. From King Andreus of Senna Lirwan.

Wren’s jaw dropped. Truth?

Tess nodded.

Even in the orphanage, Wren had heard of the wicked King Andreus of Senna Lirwan, though orphanage children were given only the scantiest lessons in history or current affairs. She had listened eagerly, however, whenever rumors or fireside tales were told in the village. She had also enjoyed sneaking glances at the single, ancient, much-repaired map in the scribe students’ room, imagining adventures as her gaze  roamed over the orange-painted Great Desert lying far to the west.

She shut her eyes and pictured the map in her mind: Senna Lirwan, land of the wicked King Andreus, lay across the high mountains to the southeast of Siradayel. Like Siradayel and Meldrith, it was land-locked. She recalled bits of gossip about how the wicked king was trying to expand his country at the expense of his neighbors.

Why did King Andreus threaten your father? Wren asked.

It has to do with something my father did. Aunt Leila told me only that he once rescued someone from Andreus’s castle. She said my parents will tell me more—when they think I’m old enough. Tess wrinkled her upper lip a little, and Wren snorted in agreement. All I know about the curse is that Andreus threatened to take any child that my father had as a return for this rescue that happened before I was born. That’s all I know.

So they think the threat is over now?

Well, that’s what they hope. Aunt Leila told me he did try to steal me away with some kind of magic spell just after I was born. Luckily Halfrid, the King’s Magician, was ready for that. But they decided to send me away soon after.

But why here? I thought those magicians have places where nobody can get in.

Tess shook her head. Like the Free Vale? But other magicians can get in. Aunt Leila told me, when I asked her that same question, that most rulers don’t trust any magicians besides their own. If I were sent to one of those faraway magic strong-holds, my father would worry that any ambitious magician could grab me. But nobody knew about Three Groves except my parents and Aunt Leila. Anyway, nothing has happened on any of my visits to my parents in Cantirmoor, so they’re going to try to keep me. But, at first, no one is to know who I am. Aunt Leila told me last night. Tess smiled lopsidedly. People are going to think that you and I are new heraldry prentices, sent to the palace from the north country. They are always sent in pairs. That’s if anyone sees us. We’re going to be kept away from people for a while.

Ah! Wren exclaimed. Is that why I’m to go, too? As a kind of disguise? What fun!

We’ll be able to read all the history records and plays that we want— Tess broke off as the door opened.

Mistress Leila entered, closed the door, and studied Wren with steady dark gray eyes. Well, Wren, would you like to come to Cantirmoor as a companion for Teressa?

Yes, Mistress, Wren answered promptly.

Mistress Leila’s eyebrows were long and slanted, and when she smiled as she did now, they slanted even more steeply. There was no mistaking the humor there, though her mouth stayed serious. You understand that you will have to be circumspect. That means you must talk to no one until you are given leave. You will also have to behave like a young scribal prentice. That means no acrobatics when you think the adults aren’t looking, and no juggling pieces of fruit, or glass weights, or whatever you might find handy. Do you understand?

Yes.

Mistress Leila brought her chin down in a short nod. Very well. Let us go.

Now? But won’t everyone know we’re going? Wren exclaimed.

Leila smiled. Did you ever notice us going in the past?

After Wren shook her head, she went on, And can you tell me where everyone in Three Groves is right now?

Wren shook her head slowly. Maybe some—but mornings are always so hen-like around here. She flapped her hands crazily.

Mistress Leila smiled. Exactly. But I know where they all are. They think the three of us are somewhere else.

She gestured for the girls to stand up. Tess’s hand reached for Wren’s and held it. Her other hand slipped into Mistress Leila’s, as Tess gazed out the window, her shoulders braced stiffly.

Wren watched in amazement as Mistress Leila made a quick gesture with her free hand, then whispered two words.

A whirlwind of streaky light and buffeting wind and roaring sound nearly overwhelmed Wren, then stopped.

She staggered and drew in a shaky breath as she blinked the blur out of her eyes. They now stood in a room with high, round-topped windows down one long wall. All around the walls of the room were low shelves with books in them, more books than she had ever seen. At each end

Reviews for Wren to the Rescue

[wealhtheowwylfing · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Wren is a young orphan whose bff Tess confesses that far from being an orphan too, she's actually their country's princess. The time has come for Tess to stop hiding from her parents' enemies, and she takes Wren along to the palace for courage and companionship. Once there, they see the king and queen--but Tess is abruptly kidnapped! While the powerful nobility gather their forces for war, Wren slips away unnoticed to mount her own rescue attempt. She is quickly joined by two Mage prentices, who have secrets and causes of their own. The three young would-be-heroes undertake the quest together.

The plot itself is fairly simple and straightforward. It's the characterization that shines here. Wren is the very definition of "pluck": stalwart and true to her friends, always resourceful and cheerful. Far too many fantasy novels [i]tell[/i] us that the companions become friends, but this quest showcases their growing trust and friendship. And I 100% bought that Tess and Wren had been friends since infancy, from their in-jokes to their rock-hard belief in each other.

This is a really sweet fantasy novel, particularly for tweens. There's no forced romance, but there's loads of believable, heartfelt friendships and low-key heroism.

[jennybeast · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I somehow lost track of reading Sherwood Smith after a binge a few years ago and am delighted to discover how many stories I haven't read yet. This one reminds me a bit of Tamora Pierce's Circle or Magic (one of my all time favorite series), or maybe Dealing with Dragons -- in any case -- it reminds me of favorite books for your magic seekers. Great characters, great quest, new and interesting world, satisfying storyline. There's a little bit too much deus ex machina that occurs, but in a way I like it because I think it links to a larger storyline, and I am very much interested to see where stubborn, loyal, pragmatic Wren ends up next.

[jjmcgaffey · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Not bad, not great. I like Wren, but there's an awful lot of very convenient special powers here - and the mage (apprentice) is the weakest of the lot. There's also a lot of secret guiding and watching-over - their quest would have failed, several times over, without that secret help. And the solution to the disaster turns into the solution to the quest - if Wren had been herself, they would never have been able to escape. As I said, very convenient. I probably will read the sequels, but I'm not excited to do so.

[laphenix · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Campy, yet fun. It took a while for this book to build momentum, and sometimes doubted the choice to switch POVs, but the ride was enjoyable once it got going. The ending, however, felt anticlimactic, particularly when the last problem solved itself.

[elentarien · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A fairly simple read and a semi-classic fantasy. Prisoner taken, questors head off to the big-bad fortress to rescue said prisoner. But still, it was a fun, and fairly light read. The children were a bit younger than I expected, but they came across well enough to be able to handle the adventure, and when the main character gets shape-changed things take an interesting little twist. Good ending, and all comes right, as a proper story should. Nothing to heavy or dark in the story, so it was quite enjoyable for a light read. I did find the 'modern' speech of the children a little bit odd, given the 'medieval' type world they were in, but it did make it easier to follow rather than stiff speech that one might otherwise expect.

[sockmonkeygirl_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This book starts one of my favorite YA fantasy series. Wren is an excellent heroine. I like that she is not the most beautiful or the smartest, but she is clever and brave and full of surprises. I read this when I was a kid at my library and was so excited to find there were sequels. This started my love affair with Sherwood Smith. A fun and satisfying read.

[wisewoman_1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Wren to the Rescue is the first in a young adult/children's fantasy series by Sherwood Smith (who, by the way, is a woman, not a man). I usually enjoy books of this genre, but this one was a bit of a chore to get through.Wren is an orphan living in the Three Groves foundling home with her friend Tess. It turns out that Tess is a princess in hiding because of a threat made by Andreus, the evil sorcerer-king whose country borders Meldrith. When the girls are summoned to the palace, it takes about a day before Tess is spirited away by a servant of Andreus. Wren is determined to rescue her friend, and along the way picks up two accomplices: Tyron, a gifted student of magic whose involvement in the rescue mission has endangered his standing with his master; and Connor, a wellborn magic student with no gift for magic whatsoever. Many clichéd happenings ensue before the happy ending. What struck me most about this book was how derivative it is of Tolkien. So much is borrowed from Middle-earth — and not very well borrowed, either. I started writing down all the likenesses because there are so many:• The girls' heroine from legend, Eren Beyond-Stars, bears an alarming resemblance to Lúthien• Twice the party travels underneath mountains through dark, ruinous caves (can you say Moria?)• They eat sustaining "traveller's cakes" that smell suspiciously of lembas• They are able to travel on "chraucans," which bear an alarming resemblance to Tolkien's Eagles• They are chased by "warries," which bear an alarming resemblance to Tolkien's Wargs• They are spied upon by "gryphs," which bear an alarming resemblance to Tolkien's crebain• The characters indulge in lots of scrying, with effects very similar to both Ring and Palantirí useI understand that Tolkien is a cornerstone in the fantasy genre, but if you're going to copy him, don't do it so obviously. Have some creativity, at least!Besides all this, the characterization is very poor. Wren never comes across as a believable heroine. Somehow she was born with pre-highlighted hair; no doubt this hints at her incredible magic skills. She's a brat. And she's way too cutesy and perky, annoyingly so. She calls the bad guys "baddiepeepers," which is apparently the funniest thing Tyron has ever heard. Magic students must not get out much. Andreus is very one-dimensional. Evil and violent, muwhahahaha! He even spills his plans of conquest to Tess, his prisoner, like every stereotyped bad guy to ever terrorize a poor countryside. His henchmen are amazingly stupid (who would not notice a dog slipping into a cell right behind the nightly dinner delivery?). And there are so many holes in his guard spells and tracers, I was really starting to wonder about his supposed prowess as a magician. Mmhmm. The only halfway-interesting person in the story was Idres, the bitter magician who betrayed and escaped Andreus many years before. But even she fell a bit flat, with her constant "wintry smile" and leave-me-alone-I-am-bitter attitude. Predictably enough, she does join in the quest before the end, saving the children from some very stupid mistakes just in time. I didn't much care for the writing style either; it was awkward in its attempts to be memorable. Take this example from page 126:"Tears blurred her vision from the icy strength of the wind."So the icy strength of the wind was blurred in her vision so she couldn't see it? Is her vision blurred by the wind or by her tears? Wouldn't this be so much better as, "Tears from the icy strength of the wind blurred her vision"? Even that has plenty of room for improvement. Some of the other descriptions were similarly clunky. And why does Smith try to make up words to make her fantasy world seem like it has more of a distinct culture? Combining two words into one ("slimeslug") does not constitute creative slang. The dialogue was okay most of the time, but there were some howlers. Consider this event that happened in Moria*cough* I mean under the mountain:"A distant hissing noise, too uneven to be water, came to all their ears. As it got louder, they noted an odd, dry quality to the hiss.'A serpent!' Tyron choked. 'Let's hide.' " (page 133)Brilliant plan, Tyron! The plot was predictable and riddled with convenient happenings. Connor just happens to have been born with the ability to understand animals (great for when Wren gets herself turned into a dog). Grown men — trained soldiers — can be easily beaten if you throw pepper in their faces, or even dirt at a pinch (who needs weapons, anyways?). There is always a poor cottager of some kind or another who will take in travelers for the night, give them a nice warm meal, and load them with useful gifts at parting. Oh, and there are language spells so you don't have to waste time actually studying the language; you can just magically attain it. With the poor characterization, sometimes laughable dialogue, predictable plot, clunky writing, and just generally unimpressive everything, Wren to the Rescue will very likely be the only Sherwood Smith book I'll ever pick up. Can't recommend this one, except as fodder for snarky review-writing.

[atimco-1 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Wren to the Rescue is the first in a young adult/children's fantasy series by Sherwood Smith (who, by the way, is a woman, not a man). I usually enjoy books of this genre, but this one was a bit of a chore to get through.

Wren is an orphan living in the Three Groves foundling home with her friend Tess. It turns out that Tess is a princess in hiding because of a threat made by Andreus, the evil sorcerer-king whose country borders Meldrith. When the girls are summoned to the palace, it takes about a day before Tess is spirited away by a servant of Andreus. Wren is determined to rescue her friend, and along the way picks up two accomplices: Tyron, a gifted student of magic whose involvement in the rescue mission has endangered his standing with his master; and Connor, a wellborn magic student with no gift for magic whatsoever. Many clichéd happenings ensue before the happy ending.

What struck me most about this book was how derivative it is of Tolkien. So much is borrowed from Middle-earth — and not very well borrowed, either. I started writing down all the likenesses because there are so many:

• The girls' heroine from legend, Eren Beyond-Stars, bears an alarming resemblance to Lúthien
• Twice the party travels underneath mountains through dark, ruinous caves (can you say Moria?)
• They eat sustaining "traveller's cakes" that smell suspiciously of lembas
• They are able to travel on "chraucans," which bear an alarming resemblance to Tolkien's Eagles
• They are chased by "warries," which bear an alarming resemblance to Tolkien's Wargs
• They are spied upon by "gryphs," which bear an alarming resemblance to Tolkien's crebain
• The characters indulge in lots of scrying, with effects very similar to both Ring and Palantirí use

I understand that Tolkien is a cornerstone in the fantasy genre, but if you're going to copy him, don't do it so obviously. Have some creativity, at least!

Besides all this, the characterization is very poor. Wren never comes across as a believable heroine. Somehow she was born with pre-highlighted hair; no doubt this hints at her incredible magic skills. She's a brat. And she's way too cutesy and perky, annoyingly so. She calls the bad guys "baddiepeepers," which is apparently the funniest thing Tyron has ever heard. Magic students must not get out much.

Andreus is very one-dimensional. Evil and violent, muwhahahaha! He even spills his plans of conquest to Tess, his prisoner, like every stereotyped bad guy to ever terrorize a poor countryside. His henchmen are amazingly stupid (who would not notice a dog slipping into a cell right behind the nightly dinner delivery?). And there are so many holes in his guard spells and tracers, I was really starting to wonder about his supposed prowess as a magician. Mmhmm.

The only halfway-interesting person in the story was Idres, the bitter magician who betrayed and escaped Andreus many years before. But even she fell a bit flat, with her constant "wintry smile" and leave-me-alone-I-am-bitter attitude. Predictably enough, she does join in the quest before the end, saving the children from some very stupid mistakes just in time.

I didn't much care for the writing style either; it was awkward in its attempts to be memorable. Take this example from page 126:

"Tears blurred her vision from the icy strength of the wind."

So the icy strength of the wind was blurred in her vision so she couldn't see it? Is her vision blurred by the wind or by her tears? Wouldn't this be so much better as, "Tears from the icy strength of the wind blurred her vision"? Even that has plenty of room for improvement. Some of the other descriptions were similarly clunky. And why does Smith try to make up words to make her fantasy world seem like it has more of a distinct culture? Combining two words into one ("slimeslug") does not constitute creative slang.

The dialogue was okay most of the time, but there were some howlers. Consider this event that happened in Moria*cough* I mean under the mountain:

"A distant hissing noise, too uneven to be water, came to all their ears. As it got louder, they noted an odd, dry quality to the hiss.
'A serpent!' Tyron choked. 'Let's hide.' " (page 133)

Brilliant plan, Tyron!

The plot was predictable and riddled with convenient happenings. Connor just happens to have been born with the ability to understand animals (great for when Wren gets herself turned into a dog). Grown men — trained soldiers — can be easily beaten if you throw pepper in their faces, or even dirt at a pinch (who needs weapons, anyways?). There is always a poor cottager of some kind or another who will take in travelers for the night, give them a nice warm meal, and load them with useful gifts at parting. Oh, and there are language spells so you don't have to waste time actually studying the language; you can just magically attain it.

With the poor characterization, sometimes laughable dialogue, predictable plot, clunky writing, and just generally unimpressive everything, Wren to the Rescue will very likely be the only Sherwood Smith book I'll ever pick up. Can't recommend this one, except as fodder for snarky review-writing.