Gravitas

By Christopher Russell

A new epic fantasy short story from the OZMA award winning author of Divinity's Twilight: Rebirth. 

 

History has weight behind it. The power to crush an empire . . . or birth it anew.

Nowhere is this more true than the Republic of Lestadt, an island nation founded upon the bones of tyrants and sustained by the might of Gravitas. This magic is the manifestation of the past, drawing upon the heritage of relics and heirlooms to bend the forces of nature. The more storied an artifact, the more power it commands.

Yet after 300 years of prosperity, Lestadt is crumbling. Revolutionaries gather in the docklands, seeking restitution for the crimes of the ruling oligarchs. A mysterious augury pronounces the nation's doom.

Desperate to save themselves, Lestadt's Court of Magisters turns to Lord Fixer Scraw for salvation. The deformed man may be ruthless in his methods, but he has never failed them. With a powerful Gravitas relic in his scarred hands, unlimited resources at his disposal, and a depraved plan taking root in his mind, can Scraw stop the revolution and save Lestadt?

Or will the cure be worse than the disease?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Divinitys Twilight Fantasy Novels
• Release date: Sep 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737977902

Christopher Russell

Christopher Russell (native of Williamsburg, VA) is a 29-year-old mechanical and aerospace engineer (graduate of the University of Virginia) who has loved reading since the day he picked up a book and writing since he could scrawl his first letters. After voraciously consuming titles from every genre—ranging from Star Wars to Lord of the Rings—he decided to combine the expertise from his professional education, passions, and Christian faith into fantasy epics bridging the gap between magic and science. He currently resides in Charlottesville, Virginia, with his loyal dog, Vallen, named after the protagonist of his first work. For behind-the-scenes information on all of Christopher Russell’s works, visit christopherrussellauthor.com.

Book preview

Gravitas: 

A Tale of the Constella

Day 1

Scraw stirred in his too-hard chair, rocking back and forth while trying in vain to get comfortable. His cravat was too tight, the weave of his suit too fine, and his shiny black shoes were too cramped across the toes. Everything about his audience with the Court of Magisters was irritating— too irritating, to be precise, and precision was of paramount importance to him.

Are you listening, Scraw? asked one of the Magisters, a balding gent whose flowing purple gown couldn't fully hide his plumpness. Horatio, that was his name. Scraw remembered it—he couldn't forget it if he wanted to. But if the vat of lard wasn't interested in using the title they themselves had bestowed on him, Scraw wasn't going to afford him that courtesy either.

He resisted scratching his neck. The suit was aggravating his skin-rash, covering his collar in dried flakes, but Scraw didn't want to give the Magisters the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. "Fixer Scraw. I'm here because of that role, so you might as well address me by it."

What we've given, we can take away, Norvea said. The scarlet-haired matron, only woman on the Court, leaned against their curved table, staring Scraw down over lowered spectacles. You of all people should understand the power we wield in Lestadt.

Scraw smiled. He rose from his chair, sketched a deep, mocking bow toward the Court's raised dais, and began walking away. "Then I suggest you use that unmatchable power to sort out your little governance problem."

Snapping his fingers set the servants flanking the chamber's immense iron doors in motion. Two threw their shoulders into the engraved murals adorning the portals, swinging the history of Lestadt outward. A third rushed along the last row of benches to the hat rack, desperate to return Scraw's tricorn before he reached the exit.

No one wanted to cross the Fixer. Not even the Court of Magisters, the ruling body of his beloved country.

S-stop, my Lord Fixer, Horatio spluttered between blood-sausage lips. Fatty pork was clearly both a distant relative and his dish of choice. There's no one else we can turn to. Ple . . . please stay. The bloated whale slumped further in his chair when he finished speaking. An impressive accomplishment, Scraw was forced to admit.

The Fixer of Lestadt spun in place, his grin widening. Full autonomy. All departments will report to me. Scraw strode back up the aisle, tucking his hands behind him, fully focused on the mission—his mission. As soon as he had the Court's mandate, they would be meaningless. A speck of dust on the city streets. A rotting carcass in a deserted alley. The army, navy, and constabulary will be subordinate to me. I will assemble my own team of architects and designers, I will set the schedule, and you will deliver the labor force when and where I tell you. Nothing less will be accepted.

A spindly Magister with more forehead wrinkles than eyebrow hairs wagged a finger at him. "Preposterous! You ask us to make you a dictator—a king! Lestadt