The Book Burner's Fall

By Anthony Ryan

The Unified Realm in the reign of King Lakril, known to history as the book burner - an impoverished realm brought to the brink of destruction by Lakril's paranoid tyranny. 

 

Kestra Saero, once the most deadly assassin to serve the Seventh Order of the Faith, is tempted back to the fold by an irresistible mission: kill the book burner. Driven by a deep desire for retribution but distrustful of her new comrades, Kestra must infiltrate a royal palace transformed into a carnival of horrors and slay the monster that lurks at its heart. But killing a king could never be an easy matter…

 

Set a century before the events in the Raven's Shadow trilogy, The Book Burner's Fall is a thrilling tale of dark magic and bloody vengeance.

 

Praise for the Raven's Shadow series:

'Ryan hits all the high notes of epic fantasy - a gritty setting, ancient magics, ruthless intrigue, divided loyalties, and bloody action.' - PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.

'A new master storyteller has hit the scene.' - MICHAEL J. SULLIVAN, AUTHOR OF THE RIYRIA REVELATIONS.

'Anthony Ryan is David Gemmell's natural successor and epic fantasy's best British talent.' - FANTASY BOOK CRITIC. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anthony Ryan
• Release date: Aug 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227661036

Anthony Ryan

Anthony Ryan lives in London and is the New York Times bestselling author of the Raven's Shadow and Draconis Memoria series. He previously worked in a variety of roles for the UK government, but now writes full time. His interests include art, science and the unending quest for the perfect pint of real ale.

Book preview

One

For the briefest moment, she thought killing Baron Colbyn might not be possible after all. She had come to this drab, rain-drenched west-Renfaelin mill town in the expectation of committing an unhesitant murder, the evidence of Colbyn’s misdeeds being so fresh in her mind. For weeks she had carried with her the faces of the two dozen Ascendants he and his retainers had left in the forest, hacked and empty eyed, naked flesh grayed by rot, several children lying amongst the slain. In their frenzy, the baron’s party had even killed the dogs in that cluster of hidden hovels. So, his death should have been a simple matter requiring no more than an instant of effort, and yet…

It was his manner that gave her pause. As Baron Colbyn, followed by his sons and retainers, rode through the muddy thoroughfare that formed the town’s only street, she saw more in his face than the mindless prejudice and brutality common to persecutors the world over. He met every dull, hungry, accusing gaze in this ragged town with unwavering fortitude and, more surprisingly, compassion. This was not a landholding noble intent only on extracting the rents and subservience that were his due. This man felt a weight of responsibility for the plight of his people, even if the true author of their beggared state sat in a palace many miles to the south.

She tried to steel herself to the task, summoning back the faces of the slain Ascendants, buttressing her conviction with the numerous previous horrors she had witnessed. So many crimes, so many slaughters. Not all the work of the baron, of course, but certainly of his ilk. So what if he cared about his peasants? She had a massacre to avenge this day and would see it done.

Once again, Baron Colbyn contrived to frustrate her when he reined his fine steed to a halt beneath the stalled sails of the town’s principal mill. People had already begun to form a line, clutching their purses and sacks containing what meagre produce they hoped to tender in lieu of rent. Some, inevitably, had nothing to offer but still shuffled forward to await their lord’s judgment, heads bowed and shoulders slumped in anticipation of the shameful excuses they would stutter. However, their baron had no use for either rent, goods, nor excuses this day.

Raising a hand, he called out a greeting, his voice strong and vibrant in the chilly, late autumn air. Hear me, good people of Hulesberth! I know that the Lord Collector has already visited this town, and that the Crown Levy Agent came the month before that. Rest assured I have been visited by both myself, and trying company they were.

It was a measure of the regard Colbyn enjoyed here that some of the townsfolk consented to laugh at this, although most simply stared in either trepidation or bafflement.

Therefore, the baron went on, today is not a rent day. Nor will there be another until the summer harvest. Instead, I invite you, good folk of Hulesberth, to join me in a feast!

Colbyn raised his hand towards the far end of the town where a trio of ox-drawn carts made their way along the rutted road. As they drew near, the assembled townsfolk let out a chorus of surprised gasps at the sight of the bulging grain sacks and barrels of ale. Some people even burst into grateful tears and bowed low to the baron. His unworthiness as a murder victim became more starkly apparent in the way he hastily dismounted to raise the commoners up from their groveling before ordering his sons to marshal the tables and sundries for the feast.

Torn by indecision, she secreted herself within the throng of people crowding the carts. Short of stature and slight of build, she was distinguished by features many had told her were of remarkably feline prettiness. Consequently, in moments like these, she concealed her face with a smearing of grime and an unruly cascade of chestnut colored hair. Therefore, few paid much heed to the stranger in their midst, most taking her for a wandering beggar girl. Appearing far younger than her thirty-two years was another useful aspect of her appearance. Thankfully, none of the townspeople were so mean of disposition as to deny a youthful itinerant a share of the baron’s largesse. So, it was a simple matter to move amongst them, slipping between the carts with a carefully crafted expression of blank-eyed wonder at such bounty. So intent were they on the novel prospect of a full belly, she was able to approach to within a half-dozen yards of the baron himself without arousing any notice at all.

Her indecision still roiled like a restless beast at the sight of Colbyn exchanging a greeting with the town factor, all warm sympathy for the man’s worries. The baron may have lived out the day, and many more besides, if her eye hadn’t caught the pile of clothes being unloaded at the baron’s side. They were plain and homespun, but well-made nonetheless. Recently laundered and neatly folded, too. She may have failed to discern their significance if she hadn’t overheard the baron’s offhand comment to the factor.

These should help keep the chill off, eh? he asked, clapping a hand to the gaunt fellow’s shoulder. Stripped them from that gaggle of Deniers we rooted out in the Green Woods a few weeks ago. Don’t worry, had the blood scrubbed out. Then he laughed, a bluff, hearty laugh that damned him.

The beast within her coiled anew, but with predatory anticipation rather than confusion. It was a hungry thing and liked to be fed, often growing truculent at the extended periods in which she starved it. But now it sensed a meal at hand and hissed its gratitude, much like these people had wept for their lord’s beneficence.

She moved closer to Colbyn, allowing the beast to fully uncoil itself, filling her with its dark need. Always at times like this, there was a terrible delight in the moment, one she despised but could never suppress. It was part of her gift, and, therefore, a part of her. It blossomed to a shuddering thrill as, just for the briefest second, the baron’s gaze slipped towards her. She parted the matted strands of hair veiling her face, capturing his eyes, snaring him tighter than any trap. Within her, the beast’s hiss became a full-throated snarl and she shuddered again, this time in pain rather than pleasure, for this was an act that took a toll on the body.

Although Baron Colbyn’s death appeared instantaneous to those that witnessed it, she knew it hurt a great deal, for she felt it, too. The moment when their eyes met created an unseen bridge between them, across which the beast could strike. So, when it lashed out and sank its